The Spider Web
by Lati
Summary: Professor Crane has just stumbled upon a girl at Gotham State University whose brutal experiences with her peers mirrors that of his own tormented history. But naive Dahlia believes that their business relationship is one that seeks justice ...
1. In Which the Good are Smitten

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* * *

Chapter One: In Which the Good Are Smitten_

* * *

"The witch returns!" 

One of the clique's athletic buffs lifted his palms in defense and mocked Dahlia with a grin. The others joined in and leaned back with their hands out, pretending to be afraid as laughter erupted among them. She just kept her head down, clutched her books tightly to her chest, and continued in her swift pace to her first class. The group called after her, "Please don't cast a spell on me!" And, "We should burn her!" This kind of thing wasn't new. It was well into her first semester at Gotham State University, and so far, every day she had to deal with the harassment and teasing from her peers. Though Dahlia was used to it, that never meant the pain went away.

With frustration, she barged into one of the girl's restrooms and placed her things down on the counter, then simply stared at her reflection in the mirror. Her arched eyebrows creased upwards, a sad and lame moan echoing out through her shut, plain lips. One tightly balled fist ran firmly over her cheek, brushing her hair from her face as she suppressed tears.

There were hardly any like her, with her blanched skin and black hair. And Dahlia always dressed in black. They all called her a Goth, or a witch or vampire. At the same time, they would also call her a nerd or a geek because she was one of the smartest girl in her classes, and she wore glasses to read. They would call her anything and everything, whatever hurt her and boosted their own self esteem.

"Oh, _you're_ here." Dahlia quickly turned to see a girl emerge from one of the bathroom stalls, adjusting a leopard-furred purse on her bare shoulder. This was Natalie O'Neil, one of the so-called populars of the campus. She dressed trashy, she acted conceited and superior, and she was just another bully to Dahlia. While she remained silent and stared at the upper class-man with hidden distaste, Natalie continued on as she went to wash her hands. "If you're going to slit your wrists, do it over the sink so you don't make a gross mess." Turning off the sink, she then went to grab a paper towel to dry her hands. As she crumpled and tossed it in the garbage, she turned and did a short and sarcastic bow with a smirk laid on her glossy lips, "Hope you have fun with your magic spells and voo-doo dolls." Dahlia watched the door for several minutes, suppressing her rage behind the shaking of her tensed muscles, before finally picking up her books and heading out with haste.

The first of her classes passed quickly, and with relatively no one bothering her. Later in Psychology, Professor Crane was lecturing as usual, and as usual, Dahlia was listening attentively. This was the one class she somewhat enjoyed for a change, and never did she sleep or not pay attention. Natalie however sat right next to her, and she was one who just loved attention. Smirking to herself, she leaned over and snatched Dahlia's thick glasses right off her face. She whispered while holding them away from her body with two fingers like one would hold a twitching spider, "These are the ugliest things I've ever seen. Are you a bum who can't afford nicer frames or something?" Immediately, that last comment struck a nerve in Dahlia. Slowly turning her head to glare into Natalie's pale hazel eyes, she snatched her glasses back and replied with a hushed, sibilant voice,  
"Not all of us are as rich as _you_, Natalie."  
"Well, you should be." She replied with a stuck-up grin. Dahlia replied bluntly, her voice slightly escalating in volume with her anger,  
"I'm sure the horny old men down at the cat walk pay you guys pretty well." Natalie's jaw dropped, and her cheeks flushed pink.

"**Miss Rhodes.**"

Dahlia's head snapped towards the front of the room and she stared in fright like a deer caught in headlights. Crane was staring right back at her with his unblinking, intense blue eyes. For a moment he was silent, then adjusted his squarely-framed glasses with two fingers and said in a calm voice, "Is there something you would like to share with the rest of the class?" For what seemed like hours, she just kept staring, her mouth trying to form words, but no sound emerging from her throat. Timidly, she just lowered and shook her head, her eyes following the wood grain of the desk. Crane threw a warning glance to Natalie before continuing with his lesson. "As I was saying . . ."

* * *

"Miss Rhodes."

Dahlia cringed and paused on her way out of the classroom, the other students having already left. She expected yet another scolding or warning, but received none as she awaited the next words. Finally she slowly turned to face her professor, still tense and nervous. Crane waited until Dahlia was facing her until he spoke, his hands clasped comfortably in front of his lap. "I assume you've studied and are prepared for tomorrow's exam."  
". . . Oh!" Dahlia's shyness around her instructor suddenly vanished as she remembered the exam. She had totally forgotten about it. Her hand jerked up to the collar of her turtle neck and nervously pulled at it. "I . . . I forgot."  
"Then it would be wise to do some studying while the university's library is open." He warned her. "Your grades have been steadily declining. It's very unlike you."  
"Yes sir, I-I know . . ." Dahlia lowered her head once again. Though he sounded aloof about it, she felt like she was disappointing both herself and Crane. "I'll go and study right now. Thank you for reminding me." Nodding quickly, she turned and scurried out the door. For a moment, Crane stood watching her darkly clad figure hurry down the hall. He then shut the door, sat at his desk, and began to shuffle through various papers.

* * *

". . . The notion of the reflex arc was developed in studies of spinal preparations in which protopathic stimuli or muscle tensions are the chief sources of excitation. Under these simple conditions something like a point for point correspondence between receptor cells and muscle groups could be demonstrated, as in the case of the scratch reflex . . ." "Dear . . . **Dear**!"  
"Huh?" Dahlia's eyes shot up out of the book to see the face of the school's librarian staring down at her. She smiled warmly and said,  
"The library's closing, Dear. Got everything you need, I hope."  
Not quite. The hours Dahlia spent in the school library were a waste, as she was easily sidetracked from her notes with psychology books unrelated to the material on the exam. Fascinating nonetheless, but of no use to her academically. 

The sky was dark as the night had come over Gotham - Dahlia had stayed far longer than she had planned. She carried her books in one hand and held her warm coat shut with the other, walking through the parking lot to head home. Something rattled in the darkness. Startled, she glanced over her shoulder towards the buildings, but saw nothing. Then she turned her head and glanced over her left shoulder, carefully watching the shadows. Her eyes trailed up where she noticed that it was the night of a new moon.

"You witch."

And even more wary, Dahlia glanced back forward to see two boys emerge from a pickup truck, both heading for her quickly. She backed away, eyes wide, and managed to let out a trembling, "W-What do you-" Her words were interrupted as she bumped into something behind her, and immediately after, large arms hooked under hers and lifted her to the tips of her toes. Dahlia's books fell to the damp ground with a thud, and her notes soon fluttered down in hot pursuit. The terrified shriek she let halfway out was stifled as a girl then came forward and slapped a line of duct tape over her mouth.

None other than Natalie. For several minutes, she and Dahlia locked eyes, hers full of anger, and her hostage's full of fear. Then Natalie brought her hand across her cheek, hard, several times before she finally calmed herself and ranted, "You don't dare think of saying that kind of thing to me ever again, you hear, you little witch? If you ever think you can be better than me, or think that you can get away with something, stop and think again." Her hand came up and grasped Dahlia's neck firmly and very threateningly, bordering dangerously on choking her. "So long as you go to this school, I own you and you are my dog to step on all I want. You'll never be as good as you want to be. Got it?"

And with a wave of her decorated hand, the strong boy who had been holding Dahlia suddenly shoved her forward and into the car nearby. Then the four got into the pickup and drove off, leaving Dahlia weeping furiously on her knees, leaning against the car and weakly stripping the tape from her mouth.

* * *

Dahlia's home was on the third floor of a run-down apartment building in The Narrows. She trudged up the stairs, still in tears, and entered quietly, hoping not to draw any attention from her father or step mother, Linda. But the alcoholic had kept a close watch on the door, and immediately sauntered up. "Dahlia!" She raised her hands up in the air and furrowed her eyebrows. "Where the hell have you been all night? I needed you here to help clean the kitchen, impossible girl!"  
Giving her a death glare, Dahlia replied coldly, "I had my own problems to deal with . . . And since when do _you_ clean?"  
Linda ignored her. She had been for the year that she and Dahlia's father, Lou, had been together. "I left you with the dishes and mopping the floor. If you ask me, I went to easy on you . . . Hey!"

Dahlia slammed the door to her small bedroom shut and locked it. Like her clothes, everything in her room was black. The sheets on her bed, her night stand, the vanity mirror and bookcase . . . Even the walls were painted black, and the back of her door. She went right for a drawer in the vanity and took out a tube of cooling gel, applying some to her bruised neck and sore muscles. Every so often, she'd drive her cheek to her shoulder to wipe away the tears.

Like a great mind reader, Cat suddenly hopped in through the window from the fire escape, purring in her swift entrance. Dahlia turned and greeted her, sniffling sadly as she went and sat down on her bed and scooped up the adventurer. "Sorry Cat, you're going to have to get yourself something to eat tonight. I don't want to go out there again." Cat was, of course, a cat. Perfectly black with brilliant blue eyes, so blue and often unblinking that she reminded her of her psychology professor, and one who came and went as she pleased. But when Dahlia needed her, Cat was there to listen - A best friend.

While cradling the feline carefully in her arms, Dahlia leaned back against her fluffy pillow and ran her pale hands over Cat's soft fur.

"I don't know what I did to deserve a beating in the parking lot, Cat, but they never fail to remind me of just how miserable I am. Is non-conformity so frowned upon in this day and age? Today I told Natalie off for the first time, and I got repaid after school by her and her group smacking me around. Jerks. At least this time they let me walk away though." The stinging pain in her cheek had yet to subside. Lifting her hand from Cat's neck for a moment, she instead ran them over her own skin to feel its numb puffing. It would go away eventually.

"But . . . I'm not going to let them scare me anymore . . ." A pause, and then Dahlia scoffed. "I say that every day . . . It doesn't matter anymore. The past is passed. Tomorrow I have some important things to do. If I can at least get through this semester, then I won't see Natalie or her boyfriend and his friends anymore." Cat only meowed and rubbed her cheek against Dahlia's chin.


	2. In Which a Tortured Past Reappears

* * *

_Chapter Two: In Which a Tortured Past Reappears_

* * *

"Hi, Dahlia!" Natalie called with as obnoxious a voice as possible, raising her arm into the air and only flapping her hand up and down in a wave. She was surrounded by her group of friends, three of which were immediately recognizable as the bullies from the previous night. "How ya doin'? What's wrong? You look like you got a nasty rough housing or something!" She cackled. Dahlia did her best to ignore her, and habitually found a few minutes of solitude in a nearby girl's restroom. 

"Miss O'Neil."  
"Oh, hello Professor Crane." Somewhat startled, Natalie quickly pivoted in her seat on the bench to face Crane, and went right into 'suck-up mode'. She smiled warmly and sat up straight. Her friends did likewise. "How are you?"  
As Crane walked by, he ignored her comment and said without a smile, looking straight ahead to where he was going, "I hope you are prepared for your exam today."  
Though certainly not appreciative of his cold tone, she only continued smiling before replying, "Um . . . Yes, sir. See you in class." And once he was a safe distance away, she muttered aloud, "What a creep. He's lucky he's got a pretty face."  
Her athletic boyfriend added, "What reason does _he_ have to care all of a sudden?"  
"Because he's like the vampire girl." Natalie replied. And while smirking, she continued, "A freak."

* * *

_In these general characteristics, memes are similar to genes and to other replicators, such as computer viruses or crystals. The genetic metaphor for cultural transmission is limited, however. Genes can only be transmitted from . . . from . . ._

Reclining comfortably in a large chair in his living room, Jonathan Crane trailed away from the text of the book. Thought his eyes followed the letters, that had by now transformed into bizarre symbols, his mind strayed elsewhere. He gave an honest effort to continue, but was not able to. Something about that Dahlia Rhodes had really captured his attention, and for some reason, all he could think about was her. His curiosity was strong. The previous night, he had witnessed her physical encounter with the other students from the high window of his classroom. Something about it entranced him, made him feel almost sympathetic for Dahlia . . .

. . . He knew what. The bullying, the name calling - It was like some nightmarish rerun of the abuse he himself received during his childhood and adolescence. And never would he forget the title they all gave him - The Scarecrow. For his gangly, long arms and legs, for his lankiness and geekiness. His experiences were just as bad if not worse than what Dahlia seemed to go through on a daily basis.

He had to know more. He had to study her. Perhaps if he were to open up to her about his own troubling past, she would come to warm up to him, give him her trust, and thus leave him with little trouble in doing his testing on her like a lab-rat. Perfect. Miss Rhodes could very well prove to be the perfect specimen for experimentation. After all, people like her were easily swayed by mere friendliness from one who understood their pain.

Shutting the book, Crane stood and placed it carefully back on his bookshelf.

* * *

While he waited for the students to finish their exams, Crane jotted down several observations and notes of what he already knew of Dahlia. She was quiet, strange and definitely somewhat disturbed, a recluse and one who never spoke to anyone unless first spoken to . . . She seemed far more passive than he was in his abuse, refusing to lift a finger to defend herself or even attempt to do so. And any few defensive moves she made were purely verbal, even when she was beaten or roughed up. Dahlia must have been wary of whatever consequences would befall her. Either that or . . .

The bell sounded, quickly drowned out by the sounds of shuffling papers, scooting chairs, and noisy chatter. Crane stood and addressed them all with a firm, "Class!" He lifted his hand to signal silence while positioning himself near the door to not let anyone by until he was through with what he had to say. Once they were quiet, he continued, "If you have not completed your exam, the library will be open after school, and you can finish there. Minus some points, I will accept it later today. For those of you who are finished, place them on my desk, and have a pleasant weekend." Their voices erupting once again, the entire class squished their way out the door and lef the classroom with silence.

Crane went to adjust the pile of exams, but noticed that Dahlia was still seated, her head down on the desk. "Miss Rhodes, class has ended." He called to her. But she didn't stir. Waiting a moment, he then headed up the steps, hesitantly went over to her, and gave her shoulder a light shake. Immediately her head pulled up, eyes wide, full of surprise and redness - She had done a lot of crying. Feigning ignorance, he repeated, "Class has ended, Miss Rhodes."  
She took in a few hasty breaths before nodding and replying in a small and raspy voice, "Y-Yes, sorry." As Crane sauntered back towards his desk, Dahlia quickly gathered her things together and picked up her exam. On her way to the door, she laid it neatly atop the rest and then placed her hand over her sore cheek. But . . . she felt the professor's eyes watching her, staring at her. Slowly she came to a halt, and turned to face him with a questioning look, her hand slowly sliding down her face and falling limply at her side. His expressionless face did not falter as he spoke.  
". . . Where did you get those bruises?"

The sudden relaxation in Dahlia's face caused her jaw to slightly drop, pulling her lips open. Crane could plainly see she was uncomfortable on the topic, but did not move or say anything else. He only awaited some sort of answer, perhaps something he could play off of to earn some amount of trust.

But she didn't speak either. For a long time the two stood there, until Dahlia finally submitted to her anxiety and simply turned and hurried out the door. The corners of his lips curved upwards in a small smile. At least she was clued in to the concern he portrayed. Next time he had a moment alone with her, he would draw her in. But first, he had to really penetrate the barrier Dahlia had subconsciously put up. He had to be personal, play the compassionate teacher . . .


	3. In Which Cat Goes Missing

* * *

_Chapter Three: In Which Cat Goes Missing_

* * *

The weekends were like paradise to Dahlia - They meant no school, no work, and best of all, no bullying. No trips, no slips, no pokes, no names, no threats, and no games of Monkey in the Middle. For the most part, she was a normal human being for two days.

Lou was home for a change, and warmly greeted her as she emerged from her bedroom in the morning. However, he was preparing coffee and was already suited in his police uniform - He'd be off to work yet again. "Hey there, Darling!"  
"Morning, Daddy." Dahlia's practically non-existent smile suddenly emerged as she stepped forward and embraced her father tightly around his stocky waist. He returned it.  
"Boy, it feels like I never see you anymore!" Placing his mug of coffee down, Lou's hand playfully tousled her frizzy hair. "What you been up to?"  
Playfully slapping his hand away, she replied happily, "This and that. I fixed my camera so I got a few good shots the other day."  
"Oh really? Well that's good." One of Dahlia's bedroom walls was completely covered in photographs of people and animals that she took, most of which were strangers on the street. She greatly admired beauty in others, the beauty of happiness among simplicity in life. She most likely admired it so much because she herself didn't have the fortune of enjoying such things anymore.  
"Hey Daddy, have you seen Cat lately? I haven't seen her since the other night."  
"No, sorry Darling. She'll probably show up. You going to head out today?"  
"Mm hm. Oh, and Daddy . . . I was thinking of going to Killinger's today to get a new veil, but I'm a bit short on cash . . ." She glanced about the ceiling of the room and pouted.  
"Ha ha. Alright, but this is all I have for now." Lou took out a small fold of money and slapped it in Dahlia's hand. "No porno, no booze, and no strip clubs." He joked.  
"Thanks, Daddy!" Once again she hugged her father and gave him a quick peck on the cheek. "Hope you have a good day at work." And out the door she scurried with camera in hand, before Linda could try and weasel her out of her cash.

Though she set out for the department store outside the Narrows, Dahlia was side tracked by the many strangers on Gotham's streets. It was no doubt a very corrupt city, with few good and even fewer who would do something about the crime. But somehow, people still fascinated her. That was probably why she enjoyed psychology class so much - She could learn to get inside others' heads, learn how they behave and why, among many other things. Simple emotions like happiness or sadness were so complex when examined closely.

A young woman tugging her son along by the sleeve hurried to get across the street, and the moment was captured on Dahlia's roll of film. A few minutes later, a smiling old man came around the corner walking his dog, and he too was photographed.

Dahlia continued to wander the streets aimlessly until her feet finally began to grow sore under her heavy shoes. She spotted a coffee shop just nearby and decided to head over for a drink and a short rest. However, she came to an abrupt halt just at the door when she spotted a familiar figure at the window - Crane. He hadn't noticed her, and was sitting quietly by himself at a table reading a newspaper. She took advantage to hide around the corner. _Why am I hiding?_ Why was she? He had been kind to her just the day before, most apparently showing concern if not curiosity at least for her bruised cheek and neck. He was one of the only teachers within the past nine years who had shown even remote interest in Dahlia, and she felt that she was repaying him by avoiding him like the bullies.

. . . But her feet didn't budge. Instead, they turned her right around and back down the street she came from. She only sighed to herself and headed straight to Killinger's Department Store.

* * *

Dahlia returned home by the time night had fallen. However, she was soon reconsidering leaving again once noticing that her father was once again not home, and Linda was there, drinking herself silly. Sighing, she only asked, "Have you seen Cat?" Linda craned her head over her shoulder and murmured,  
"Nope . . . S'your cat, you take care of him."  
"**Her**." She corrected with a slight scoff. The goth girl grabbed an umbrella from the coat rack before heading back out, seeing that the anticipated rain had finally begun to fall. She left just as soon as she had gotten then.  
"Hey, hey!" Linda called to the door though Dahlia was already gone. "Where's your father? He's been gone all night without a word! Stupid girl . . ."

* * *

Grabbing the umbrella was a complete waste of time. No more than three minutes out of the building, Dahlia was recognized by one of the boys who had aided in confronting her the other night. It was the usual encounter - Name calling, some shoving here and there . . . Though this time, for added intimidation, he had snatched away her umbrella and smacked her in the back with it, chasing her several feet down the street with it like a stray dog. No doubt it was degrading, especially in the rain, and on what was supposed to be a good weekend. Rubbing the new bruise that would now form on her shoulder, Dahlia continued down the street, determined still to find Cat.

After an hour or so of searching the streets and alleys, Dahlia then went on to knock on every door she passed. The first one she came across was probably the most polite of the many strangers she met that night.  
"Excuse me, have you seen a small black cat around here with a red collar and big blue eyes?" Dahlia took out a photograph from her pocket and held it out for the woman to see.  
"Get lost, little tramp." And the door was slammed in her face. For a moment Dahlia stood there staring at the door, then just kicked the frame and moved on. The rest of the residents on that particular street were the same. Then she came upon one of the nicer and more expensive apartment buildings in the area. Several times during school days she noticed Cat milling about the area, so surely there must have been a chance that someone saw her.

Other than being under a roof and out of the rain, the people greeted Dahlia all the same. Each new door she headed to, her questions and words became more and more pitiful and desperate. "Please, please sir . . . I'm looking for my cat . . ." Slam, right in her face. Knock knock knock on the next door. "Ma'am, please, you have to help me. I'm looking . . ." A blunt comment before another slam.

Gripping her dripping wet sleeves in any hope to preserve her body's warmth, Dahlia just continued on, determined to make it to all of the doors. Someone had to have even a little bit of compassion, right?

No. Of course not. What was she thinking? The entire building had turned her down. Talk about a sinking heart. Back out on the street, following the sidewalk without any aim or direction, Dahlia began to wonder if she truly was just wasting her time. What if Cat got picked up by a stranger and taken away from her, or yet worse, what if she had been hit by a car and was lying dead somewhere on the street? Every second, she grew more and more worried.

There was an alley nearby that she hadn't noticed before, and since Cat herself was an adventurer, Dahlia went ahead to check it out. Emerging out the other end however, she only noticed a small side street and a row of lovely houses - Definitely a richer neighborhood. But one house in particular stood out in her eyes. It was not particularly large, but definitely was beautiful, neo-gothic in architecture and design. She headed there first to start her last list of inquiries for the night.

Dahlia rang the doorbell, then readied her photograph and politeness as she awaited the resident to emerge. Her shy eyes were cast down to the dry porch, water stains and droplets carried there from her wet clothes and boots. When she heard the door open and saw the golden light from inside stretch to her feet, she immediately held the picture out and asked desperately,

"Please, please don't turn me away. I need help. I'm looking for-"

"Miss Rhodes?"

That voice sent shivers throughout her body. Her muscles tensed and her outstretched arms began to noticeably shake. Slowly her eyes, wide as saucers, trailed up the neatly dressed figure to meet with his blue hues. Her jaw dropped.

"P-Professor Crane!"  



	4. In Which the Fly is Lured In

* * *

_Chapter Four: In Which the Fly is Lured In_

* * *

He was quite surprised, his raised eyebrows and widened eyes mimicking Dahlia's. "Miss Rhodes, what are you doing around here at this hour?" Already Crane's mind ruled out the possibility of the late teen suspecting him of something, or even knowing beforehand that this was his abode - Her quick ramblings had revealed that with ease, and Dahlia was one who was quite easy to read. But his curiosity had taken a strong hold on him . . . and this was also a very opportune time to study and examine her, and get to know her, to earn her trust. 

Dahlia's lips moved, but no sound came out. Finally however she did manage a somewhat raspy, "I . . . I was . . ." Crane looked down to the photograph she apparently had forgotten that she was holding out. He took it from her fingers and examined it for a moment before glancing back to meet her eyes and cutting her off,  
"Looking for your pet cat?"  
Cheeks flushing red, Dahlia quickly nodded several times and replied, "Yes. I haven't seen her since the other night."  
Crane took another glance to the picture before handing it back. "I'm sorry, Miss Rhodes. I haven't seen any black cats around here."  
Her face sank as she took the picture carefully with both hands. ". . . Thank you anyway, Professor. Sorry for disturbing you."  
He laid a charming smile across his full lips, replying before she could completely turn to leave, "Oh, don't be silly, Miss Rhodes." Sidestepping the open doorway to clear a path, he gestured a hand inside his home. "Would you like to come in for a while? The rain is coming down awfully hard, and you must be freezing cold."  
It took her a few moments of thought and a couple more glances to her teacher's friendly expression before Dahlia finally accepted. "Thank you. I won't be long, though. I don't want to be a bother."  
_Perfect. Suddenly the pieces are all coming together._  
"Oh, no bother, Miss Rhodes. No bother at all." Once she entered, he looked around outside to make sure no one was watching, then closed the door.

Crane certainly had a fine home. Clean and well kept for a man who lived by himself, and classic and contemporary. Straight lines and warm colors galore, and vintage furniture - It looked like a page out of a home and garden magazine. Most noticeably, bookcases lined several of the walls, and were stuffed full of hundreds of books. Dahlia wasn't used to seeing another person's home, especially one that looked so much nicer than her own. Her entranced eyes slowly scrolled over the perimeter as she politely stayed in the tiled entryway to avoid getting water on the carpet. "You have a beautiful house." She called to Crane, who had gone off to retrieve her a towel. A flapping sound suddenly caught her attention, and glancing towards one of the windows on the adjacent wall, she spotted a tall wooden perch with a large, black bird on it, staring towards her with its wings spread. When it loudly cawed, she drew back in surprise.

"Why, thank you." Crane returned a moment later with a towel and handed it to her. Seeing that she noticed his pet, he added, "Don't let Sheryl scare you. She's quite harmless." Dahlia pressed the towel to her face first, then ran it over her hair several times as she gazed upon the bird.  
"It's okay, I'm not scared. I like birds." For a few seconds she lightly laughed to herself before saying aloud, "A crow, named Sheryl . . ."  
He too let out a soft chuckle. "I couldn't think of another name that was more fitting." Extending out his hands, he politely said, "Here, let me take that jacket so you can dry off." She nodded and slipped it off, then placed it in his hands.  
"Thank you." He went to hang it on the nearby coat rack. "I never figured you to be the type to have a pet, Professor."  
"Yes, well, I have a soft spot for birds." Crane lifted his arm up and out, bent at the elbow and signaled to the bird. She responded by cawing once again before flying to his outstretched arm and then hiking up to his shoulder. "Yes, Sheryl is a tame one." He stroked her chest affectionately. If there was one living thing in the world that he did care for, it would be Sheryl.  
"But isn't it illegal to keep a crow as a pet?" Dahlia questioned out of curiosity.  
"Only if you don't have a federal permit, which I do possess."

Dahlia eventually couldn't resist her natural like of animals as she reached out and stroked Sheryl's chest. Like a child at a petting zoo, she smiled as the crow cawed once again. Crane too smiled, quite mischievously. He shifted closer to Dahlia and bent his knee so that his tall shoulder met her significantly shorter one, and the bird too shifted over to perch there. She let out a girlish giggle as she continued to run her hand over her ebony feathers.

Gesturing towards one of the sofas in the living room, Crane said, "Take a seat, please. Would you like something to drink, perhaps some tea?" Dahlia hesitantly nodded before heading towards the sofa. Before sitting however, she neatly folded the towel over several times before laying it down over the cushion, to avoid getting it wet when she sat.

_No drugging will be needed quite yet . . . It may not be ready. I still need to test it, but not on her . . ._

Crane was pondering as he had gone to fetch a cup of tea for both himself and Dahlia. For some time, he had been developing what he felt would be his greatest accomplishment yet - A poison, a toxin, that would bring out the worst of a particular individual's nightmares. A person's hallucinations would be so terrifying that it would render them completely insane and irrational. It was far different than his other experiments - It was far more dangerous. But the professor wasn't sure if it was even temporary or permanent. Dahlia seemed to make such a perfect subject with her life so unnervingly similar to his own childhood, and her innocence still in tact . . . He didn't want to ruin her until he was sure that his toxin would be perfected from it.

He returned several moments later with two cups in hand, setting one down on the coffee table in front of Dahlia before he took his own seat on the opposite sofa. Crane sat in silence, sipping his tea as he observed her behavior and interactions with Sheryl, as she sipped her own tea now and then and avoided eye contact with him. Though he was quite comfortable, she seemed to be more and more uneasy. Finally though, she did shatter the silence, which he had not expected from one as shy as she was.  
"Professor Crane . . . I'm sorry about the other day."  
Crane arched a brow. "Oh? For what?"  
"When you asked about my bruises and I just ran away . . . I'm really sorry. I just . . . didn't know what to say. I guess I panicked." Even the crow's company on her shoulder didn't keep her smiling. Once again her face sank.  
"No no. It wasn't my place to ask." Reverse psychology a complete success in three, two, one . . .

". . . No, it's okay. I actually wanted to say that . . . Well, you must know the bullying I get around campus."  
Crane placed his cup on the coffee table before sitting up straight and crossing one leg over the other. His hands clasped together in his lap and a false look of slight confusion swept over his features. "Everyone suffers some sort of verbal abuse at least once in their life. But, don't tell me you were beaten . . ."  
". . . I wouldn't call it a beating, really . . . But, the other night, this one girl who picks on me a lot, her and her boyfriend and his friends . . ." Dahlia's words trailed off. Something kept her from continuing on. Impatient with the silence, Crane gently urged her on,  
"They . . . ?"  
She suddenly glanced up to finally meet his eyes, and quickly spoke in a different tone of voice. "I'm sorry, Professor. I shouldn't have mentioned it. I don't need to get you involved in my personal business. I'll take care of it myself."

Crane didn't have enough patience to ease off quite yet. He lowered his head slightly and looked her head on, somewhat ignoring her words. "Was it Miss Natalie O'Neil?" Silence. "She seems to have had a grudge on you ever since you arrived at this university, isn't that so?"

Sheryl cawed and flapped her wings as Dahlia suddenly stood up. "N-No . . . No, I . . . I have to go. It's getting late."  
Dahlia became more and more easy to read. Crane no longer needed her to stay around, so stood as well, leaning forward slightly and apologetically. "Yes, it is getting late. I'm sorry to have kept you." He escorted her to the door, at the same time taking his bird from her shoulder and sending her back to her perch. Like a gentleman however, he took a spare umbrella from the hall closet and handed it to Dahlia along with her jacket. "I don't need this old thing anymore. Avoid catching a cold, as I expect to see you in class on Monday."  
It was still raining outside, but seemed to be slowing finally. Dahlia graciously took the umbrella and added a soft "Thank you" as she opened it and headed back out onto the street. She turned and waved back, calling, "See you in class, Professor Crane."  
He waved back and threw out another smile before going back inside and closing the door once again. A soft chuckle escaped his lips. He glanced to Sheryl and smiled.

"She may be harder to get to than I once thought. But soon enough, Sheryl, soon enough the toxin will be ready for testing, and Miss Rhodes will be the first lucky person to taste it."


	5. In Which the Fly is Caught

* * *

_Chapter Five: In Which the Fly is Caught_

* * *

Cat was still missing. So was Dahlia's father. Nothing new to her - Her father often overworked himself and sometimes stayed holed up in his office down at the police station for days. Linda overreacted only because she dreaded being alone in the apartment with Dahlia, as the girl did to her. That was no secret.

It was Sunday, and just one more day until school. Dahlia decided to take her last hours of freedom outside on the streets to take more photographs and do some light shopping. Her first stop was a newsstand on the street corner where she picked up that day's issue and several magazines for her father. The front page of the newspaper had a large, blurry photograph of the Batman and the title "BATMAN FOILS BANK ROBBERY" printed on it. Every chance he got, it seemed, her father would tell her about the Batman, and about how much of a nuisance and a vigilante he was. He taught her that the law should never be taken into her own hands. But who was she too care? He didn't interfere with her life or make it more miserable than it was. In some ways, she admired him, and his courage to save people in need.

But she'd have to save her mental ramblings of the bat for another day. Dahlia came around the corner too swiftly and bumped into someone straight on, nearly toppling over backwards. However, the stranger had reached forward quickly and grabbed her upper arm to keep her from falling. Somewhat stunned from the run-in, she didn't even manage an apology before the oh-so familiar voice spoke up.

"Interesting how frequent our chance encounters are, Miss Rhodes." Who else but Crane? He still held on to Dahlia, making sure she had regained her balance. She meanwhile was still staring down at the ground in disbelief, following his figure up to meet his curious eyes. Her cheeks immediately blushed red, both embarrassment of the run-in, and remembering her behavior the previous night.  
"Y . . . Ya . . ." But she didn't have to begin the awkward conversation this time, and had no time to once again apologize to her professor. He cradled a small black cat in his free arm to his side, the creature luckily avoiding getting injured in the bump. Dahlia's eyes widened. Her lips stretched to a large smile.  
"I take it that this fellow is indeed yours, Miss Rhodes?" Crane carefully handed over Cat and Dahlia gratefully accepted. She hugged and held Cat close to her face, rubbing her cheek to his soft fur lovingly. However, she did notice that an area over her back had speckles of blood, and as she parted the fur to get a better look, she saw several small cuts in her feline's skin. As he noticed that Dahlia noticed, Crane spoke up again, "Looks like she might have been exploring some rough neighborhoods. If you'd like, we can take her to my house to clean up her wounds."

Dahlia paused before looking back up to Crane and replied, thinking only of Cat, ". . . Okay. Thank you. Thank you so much for finding her."

* * *

". . . I apologize about last night, Professor Crane."

"Oh? For what this time?"

Once again Dahlia was seated on the sofa, Cat purring in her lap as she wiped the wounds clean with a warm and damp cloth. Crane sat next to her, seemingly hovering over her, she felt. But still, she ignored it and replied, "For leaving so suddenly. I . . . I was just . . ."  
Crane interrupted her as he lifted his hand in defense, "No no, I understand. It was not my place." Another moment of silence followed before Crane went on in what seemed to be just out loud thinking. "I suppose my curiosity got the better of me. After all, I, too, had suffered harassment and abuse in my adolescence . . ." As Dahlia looked up to gaze at him with her mouth slightly agape, Crane went on as his blue eyes traveled across the room, "It's difficult to make friends under such circumstances, I know. What to them seems like a bit of good fun instills much, much more than that into the victim." He lightly sighed.

". . . _You_ were bullied, Professor . . . ?" Dahlia almost couldn't believe it. Her own psychology teacher of all people shared her pain. _That_ must have been why he seemed so interested in her brawl the other day. He understood her and knew what she was going through, and he must have sympathized with her . . . Finally, there was someone that could relate with her. Not just another person out to make her feel bad about herself.  
"Oh, yes. Amazing how cruel mere children can be, thinking their names and games are harmless . . ." Suddenly Crane glanced ot Dahlia, who was still intently watching him. "Teenagers too, for that matter." Clearing his throat, he gave his charming smile and said somewhat bashfully, "Now, no need to bring up such meaningless things . . ."  
"N-No, it's not meaningless." Dahlia sat up, her eyes having never left Crane's as she spoke sincere words. "You know what I go through, then. The kids who beat me up . . . The name calling every day, it's like everyone is out to get me . . . And I have no friends." She almost felt like crying. Quite unexpectedly, Crane rested his hand on her shoulder and cut her off before she could go on,

"No, Miss Rhodes. You have at least one friend."

The corners of her lips slowly spread into a genuine smile.

* * *

That night, with Cat safely nearby and lying on her bed, Dahlia brushed her hair in preparation for sleep. Her smile had lasted hours and was still planted on her face with no hopes of dying down. She even hummed a merry tune as she placed her brush down and flung herself onto her bed, Cat jumping slightly in surprise.

"Cat, he said he was my friend. That means that there's someone other than my father who actually cares about my feelings, who I can actually go to for friendly conversation or something. Someone I can trust, and someone who understands the bullying I get."

Only her head lifted up off the sheets as she peered over to the photographs covering her wall. Right smack in the center of the large collage was one of Crane that he allowed her to take as she left his home.

"I wonder how old he is. I'd say into his late twenties. He's not very old at all . . . And he's really handsome. It's hard to believe that he was bullied for his appearance when he was younger." Dahlia glanced back to Cat, her smile stretching as she blushed. She cautiously lowered her voice as she continued. "I think I'm getting a crush, and on my own psychology professor. You think he likes me back?" Cat's bored eyes stared at Dahlia for several moments before glancing away.

"Hmph." She rolled over onto her stomach. "Ya, I shouldn't flatter myself, I know." A dreamy sigh escaped her lips.

"But at least now I have someone that I don't have to fear." 


	6. In Which the Scarecrow Steps Forward

* * *

_Chapter Six: In Which the Scarecrow Steps Forward_

* * *

The bell rang, followed by the usual shuffling of feet and papers as class had ended. Natalie managed to once again ridicule Dahlia as she left, shoving through the crowd towards the door and shouting, "Help! Help! The vampire's out for my blood!" Her friends and most of the class laughed as they left. Dahlia remained up in the seating area, staring out the door and sighing with defeat. Seated at his desk, Crane watched them leave, then looked to Dahlia. She trudged down to the floor and on her way out, glanced to him and asked with a mumbled tone, "It never gets any easier, does it?" And with that she left.

Crane watched her figure trudge down the hallway beyond the door, seeing the occasional push from another student. Though intent on his experimenting and studying, he did indeed pity her. It was a shame for anyone to suffer such harassment. Though Crane paid little attention, until the next day in class when he noticed Dahlia's seat was empty. Not just that day, but the next two days as well. Dahlia was not one to miss class so often either, and she seemed perfectly healthy, at least physically.

After handing out an assignment, Crane sat at his desk to grade papers when he overheard Natalie's faint voice whispering to another student. _I am not def, Miss O'Neil . . ._ But something he managed to pick up in her conversation grabbed his immediate attention.

". . . Oh yeah, she's totally hiding out in her shoe box." Natalie snickered.  
"You really drove her to skip school?" One of Natalie's equally devious friends, Caitlin Barr, replied.  
"Ya. I told that witch to basically be my dog, and she totally was all ignoring me and still going on all avoiding and stuff. So I just upped her dosage, and . . ."  
Caitlin scoffed playfully. "You're such a bitch."  
"Tch, I know." Natalie whispered back and the two giggled.

"Ladies." Crane finally had to speak up. He looked up from his papers though otherwise didn't shift in his seated position, and looked up to Natalie in particular. "Is there something you would like to share with the rest of the class?"  
"No, Professor. I'm good." Natalie replied smiling, not taking this warning seriously.  
"Then I suggest you get back to work on your assignment before it suddenly doubles in length." He warned. The two stifled their childish laughter and reluctantly did as they were told.

* * *

Natalie's bullying had been growing worse and worse every day, to the point where Dahlia'd be lucky to get away unharmed and with all of her belongings. Eventually, she just couldn't take it, and began to skip school. This, however, meant a big problem for Crane. Now that she wasn't in his class on a regular basis, it would be immensely difficult to track her down, since he had no clue where she lived and was sure no one else would since she was such a recluse and shy person. He did know that she at least visited the area around the coffee shop and Killinger's department store once in a while. But even if he did find her, how appealing would it be for a teenager to have an adult figure approach them without circumstance and ask a personal favor? He needed her at the university. And to do that, he needed to solve this bothersome problem of hers . . .

Every night, Natalie and her clique would loiter about Gotham University's parking lot, laughing, chatting, and just enjoying themselves. This particular night, Natalie, Caitlin, and two other boys, Chris (Natalie's football-playing boyfriend) and Eric, were seated in the back of Natalie's boyfriend's pickup truck, sharing a pack of beer. Eric laughed and began, "So Witchy is really afraid to go back now?"  
"Yup." Natalie said with pride, her boyfriend draping his strong arm over her slender shoulders. "I got rid of that bitch for good."  
Caitlin then cut in while opening another can of beer, "I bet she's sitting in her bed right now crying her eyes out!"  
"Oh, _so_ for sure!" Natalie replied. "Jesus, she's such a loser. I don't know how she survived this long, and in Gotham of all places. I mean, _hello-o_."  
"Ya, really."  
Chris laughed and leaned forward, pulling himself up into a standing position. "Totally. Be right back, I'm gonna grab another pack." He jumped out of the vehicle, it bouncing slightly with the shifting of his heavy weight, and headed towards Eric's car to grab more beer. On his way however, he noticed a figure approaching him in the night's shadows. For a moment he waited with curiosity to see who it was, but once they were close, he let out a guffawed laugh. The figure that approached was a slim man dressed in a fine suit, overall normal looking . . . but he had a burlap sack over his head. A noose hung around the neck and two small eye holes were cut out, and the crooked mouth was made from a long slit in the material that was held shut with twine stitching. A home-made scarecrow mask.

"Dude! Dude!" Chris continued to laugh hysterically, pointing to the unknown man as he looked over his shoulder to his friends who, by now, were also laughing. "Check this clown out!" He looked back towards the man and continued on, "S'not Halloween yet, man!" The stranger was silent, but continued to walk forward.

Suddenly, shock was spread onto all of their faces as he then took out a handgun from inside his jacket pocket, and pointed it to Chris. The pack of beer that he had retrieved fell from his hands and split open on the ground, and his face blanched quickly. Not even thinking, he turned around and took off like a bullet, panting in fear. The stranger then pointed the guns at the others, all of them still and afraid to even move. Finally, his deep voice spat out, "Get lost." They quickly leapt from the truck and began to sprint off as well, but before Natalie could get away, the Scarecrow headed up to her, stuck the gun to her temple and demanded calmly, "**Not you**."

And by now, Natalie was silently crying, tears streaming down her face. Ahh, the irony.

The Scarecrow took her by the arm with his free hand and moved her over to the side of the truck, then shoved her forward. She pathetically whimpered, "W-What are y-you gonna do?"  
"Give you the opportunity to see things in a whole new perspective." He grabbed her shoulder and roughly flipped her around, pointing the gun in her face. After a second of watching her continue to weep, he tucked the gun back into his jacket. Natalie watched him in curiosity, under the impression that she was free to go. _No, silly girl. I was just letting you simmer for a moment before showing you **this**_.

Jerking his arm forward and extending out his palm, a white powder was released from his sleeve and into Natalie's face.

_A shame the distraught Miss Rhodes was not first to taste my medicine . . . but you'll have to do._

Immediately she began to cough violently, her eyes shutting tightly as she fell to her knees. For a moment he watched her, waiting for the reaction, observing her reaction, the odor, the dose she inhaled . . . Finally she opened her eyes and slowly looked up to him, only to suddenly begin weeping once again. "No! **NO!** Get away from me!" She jerked backwards so quickly that she slammed against the side of the truck, The Scarecrow squatted as his bright blue hues gazed out in awe through the eye holes of the mask. She was even more terrified of him - God only knew what she was seeing, and how he wished he knew. He had given her a small dose of his special fear toxin, that would bring all of her nightmares to life. "Please, no! **Don't**!" And her reactions were almost immediate. His invention was a complete success. All he needed now was to figure out if it was permanent or temporary, and . . .

"Natalie O'Neil." The Scarecrow shifted forward closer to Natalie, and took her throat threateningly. She stared right back into his eyes as his voice, most likely quite demonic sounding to her ears, spoke firm orders. "Do you know who I am?" She didn't utter a word, only her continued, rapid panting.

"I am Scarecrow. And should you wish to live, you'll do exactly as I say . . ."

* * *

"Oh, Miss Rhodes. We meet again." Crane waited impatiently around the coffee shop for what seemed like hours before he saw any signs of Dahlia. Purposely, he bumped into her once again to initiate conversation. While he was in quite a decent mood, she seemed simply sad - No surprise there. For now, he once again feigned ignorance. "I haven't been seeing you in class, lately. Something troubling you?"

Dahlia slowly nodded, then sighed as she fingered the neck strap to her camera. "Natalie's just . . . The bullying has gotten worse, Professor Crane. I just couldn't go to school anymore without getting shoved around or getting my things tossed around or stolen. Last time, they took one of my favorite books. Natalie's so evil."  
"Interesting that you bring up Miss O'Neil." Crane smiled in his mind. "I got word this morning that she had been assaulted in the university's parking lot last night and has been taken to the hospital to treat some injuries."  
"Really?" It wasn't a question of concern, but of disbelief, that someone as seemingly strong as Natalie was assaulted. "Wow . . . Who did it?"  
Crane slightly smiled. "All that the few witnesses said was that it was an insane man brandishing a gun, and in a scarecrow mask. No sane person would run about in a scarecrow mask though, I'm sure." He lightly joked for comic relief. Dahlia too chuckled. "Well, if you feel up to it, the university is relatively safe for your return. Knowledge is a most valued thing, Miss Rhodes, and no one has the right to take that away from you." Crane nodded a farewell as he coolly headed off towards his home.

The next day, Dahlia's seat was still empty. Disappointed and further annoyed, he just kept on with his lecture until he heard the classroom door open. Pausing briefly, he turned to see Dahlia heading inside, panting and with a light sweat on her forehead. "I'm sorry. Woke up late." She threw Crane a small smile before placing her late pass on his desk and quickly heading up to her seat. Once settled in, the professor smiled towards her before continuing on with the lesson.  



	7. In Which Ulterior Motives are Discovered

* * *

_Chapter Seven: In Which Ulterior Motives are Discovered_

* * *

After class, Crane once again kept Dahlia for several moments to discuss something with her. And now that she had most definitely considered him a good and only friend (besides Cat of course), the nervousness she usually held was gone. She was calm and serene, and definitely more approachable, almost like a whole new person. Most certainly from Natalie's removal from her life. Smiling, she questioned, "You need to talk to me about something?"

Crane stood silent for a moment, left arm crossed over his chest and his right hand's fingers running idly down his cheek and slowly back and forth over his chin. "Yes, though I do hope this doesn't come out as . . . awkward." He smiled and gave a short chuckle. "I wish to perform a behavioral study, Miss Rhodes. And frankly, I couldn't think of a more appropriate subject than yourself."  
Her cheeks flushed. "Me? Why?"  
"Do you think I could persuade any other student on this campus without having them question my ulterior motives?" He replied with a hint of humor. Dahlia hesitantly laughed before nodding several times.  
"Ya, I understand. Sure then, I'll do it. Anything for you, Professor Crane." She quickly regretted those words, and looked away shyly. _Why the hell would I say something like **that!** I'm so stupid sometimes._  
Crane gave a charming laugh. "Why, thank you, Miss Rhodes."

When Dahlia looked back towards Crane, he was still gazing upon her in a way that she could only observe as being how one would examine a painting or similar work of art. A heavy sense of intimidation swept over her. Finally he said, "Meet me at my home on Friday, around nine o'clock in the evening. Is that alright for you?" She nodded, barely paying attention to his words as all her focus was on his eyes. She made en effort to truly pay attention, but just slipped into a light day-dream. "Good then." Resting a hand on her back, Crane then gently eased her forward and walked by her side towards the door. "And, may I ask that you keep this study to yourself. One could only imagine the kinds of rumors that would buzz if others like Miss O'Neil were to find out."

"Ya . . . Oh! Yes, yes Professor." Returning to her senses, Dahlia nodded once again before scurrying out of the classroom in a noticeably excited manner. There seemed to be a slight skip in her step.

_Professor Crane's going to study me? **Me**? Oh my goodness, I could die. I could just die. This just might be . . . No, this **will** be the best day of my life!_

And her giddy nature even persisted through her hours of studying and catching up in the university's library she had to do that very afternoon. But nothing else in the world mattered at this point, nothing but Jonathan Crane.

* * *

Studying went quite poorly; All Dahlia did was scribble nonsensical babble onto a sheet of notebook paper and day-dream while staring blankly ahead. Of what? Crane of course. All her thoughts revolved around him that day. He was so sweet and kind, charming, charismatic, handsome, friendly . . . She could go on and on. But she had no time - It was getting pretty late, and the library was finally closing, and a librarian would soon kick her out. So, Dahlia quickly scooped up her books and papers and half walked, half skipped out of the doors and down the hallway.

Around one of the corners inside however, she overheard two girls loudly discussing quite an interesting topic - They must not have known Dahlia was still on campus, otherwise they would have been far more cautious in their words.

". . . Oh, that is so stupid. I can't believe the police haven't figured it out yet. Duh."  
"I know, really. Everyone knows that all Natalie does around campus is rag on Witchy and . . ."  
"Hey, shut up! You might jinx us. After all, Natalie got attacked for picking on _Dahlia_."  
"True, true . . . I wonder who did it though. Who had the guts to do something that horrible to her."

As they exited the building, their words gradually became inaudible. And in its place, Dahlia was left giggling to herself in pure ecstacy. All because of this one maniac in a scarecrow mask, Dahlia suddenly found some amount of peace. It costed Natalie quite a bit . . . But . . . She enjoyed it. It was easy to notice that a lot of people backed off from bullying on her so heavily, and some even began to ignore her altogether. The pushes and shoves were mostly nervous accidents now, no glares or threats were thrown, and whenever someone did rag on her, they quickly added a 'just kidding' to it and a smile. Even if it was out of fear, of intimidation of this character in a burlap sack . . . It was everything Dahlia dreamed of. Not friends, not popularity - Just peace. And if it costed a mean girl's reputation, physical well being, and some of her nerves, then so be it. Dahlia justified it with the rule of karma.

Suddenly she wondered if Crane was still on campus. She was very inclined to just go on and on to him about her thoughts and of what she had just heard - He seemed like the type of person she could talk to more personally. Plus, it would be nice to just say hello and see his smiling face. So, Dahlia took a different route and came around towards the psychology classroom. There was a light in the square window, so he must have still been in. But as she approached it, she noticed right off the bat that he seemed busy with something . . .

Many loose papers were sprawled across his desk as if he had been looking and reading through them all, and four bottles of different sizes were resting near a stack of books off on the corner. Each one had a thin, white strip across it, a label, none of the text large enough for Dahlia to see so far away. Crane finally came into view as he walked towards his desk, having not noticed her yet. He flipped through several documents, picking up one of the bottles every so often to examine it. Then he began towards the door, and luckily his eyes were diverted toward some papers as Dahlia quickly ducked down, ran around the corner, and hid. Several seconds later, she heard his calm footsteps head in the opposite direction of the hall.

Slowly slinking back around the corner, Dahlia watched for several seconds as his figure disappeared into one of the nearby classrooms. It looked like the chemistry class. No big deal, if not for the fact that he was using a strange looking key to unlock it and enter. Plus, when she went back to the psychology classroom, she found the door locked and the lights shut off, and she could barely make out the documents and bottles strewn across the desktop. He seemed somewhat suspicious. What was he hiding? Her own curiosity got the better of her, as she then snuck over to the chemistry class and took a look through the window into the dark room. Crane was hunched down in front of a cabinet, unlocking it and searching through the chemicals for something important. Again, the darkness and distance showed only blurry labels to Dahlia, but she was observant enough in her few trips to the area to know exactly what he was searching for.

A toxin, or a poison of some sort. Something very serious, as the particular cabinet was off limits to students. Immediately she stifled vocalizing her surprise, laying a hand over her mouth. What did he need with such dangerous materials? She was definitely no chemist, but she knew that such things were of no use to ordinary people. Crane was certainly up to something, but what? She didn't know. It was already difficult believing that he would be snooping around - So far, she had only convinced herself that he needed it for a special study or experiment. No no, Professor Crane is just in need of some special materials for an experiment of some kind. No big deal . . . Then why was he being so secretive about it?

Again Dahlia had to hide around the far corner as Crane emerged from the classroom, taking a careful look around before locking the door behind him and heading back to his own classroom. Once the hallway was safe, she quickly headed for the parking lot, down the sidewalk, and off to her apartment, making mental note to forget about her own snooping. 


	8. In Which Natalie Gets a Visitor

* * *

_Chapter Eight: In Which Natalie Gets a Visitor_

* * *

"Scarecrow! Scarecrow! Look at the puny Scarecrow!" "He's so funny looking and such a geek!"  
"Get a load of the freak!"

The preteen was battered with rotten apple cores and empty soda cans as he fled down the street, his long legs keeping him running quick. All the others followed him, calling at him and taunting him, betting each other who could hit him the most times with thrown projectiles. One managed to get the lanky boy in the head with large rock, and laughed as he stumbled, nearly falling, and barely managing to pick himself up in time to escape their fists.

"Leave me alone!" He wailed, tears streaming down his cheeks. It continued on for years . . . even through his high school years. Old bullies continued to harass him, beating him every other day because they "felt like it," or "just wanted to." One day when the threats were minimal, he approached the girl he had a crush on for well over half of the semester.

"Becky?"  
She turned from her group of friends to face him in curiosity, her lovely green eyes relaxed. "Yes?"  
". . . Would you . . . Would you like to go out on a date, with . . ."  
His meek question was interrupted as she said in a bitter tone, "No. Not interested." She turned her back to him, leaving him in shock and utterly crushing his heart.

Suddenly he stood in the school parking lot, dressed in a ghoulish scarecrow costume and with a gun in hand, sprinting towards Becky and her boyfriend's car which was speeding off in haste. Inside the two were howling and screaming in fear, only desperate to escape. But their haste made them foolish, foolish enough to swerve into the opposite lane and right for the bright headlights of an oncoming truck . . .

Crane's eyes flickered for a moment before he slowly opened them, eyelids drooping. He was slouched over on the arm of his sofa in his living room. Safe and sound in his own home . . . Light perspiration was formed on his forehead and cheeks, which he then wiped away with the back of his hand, sighing silently in relief. The nightmares never seemed to end for him, and even haunted him in his dreams. At least now he could handle it without having to run home crying, or brandish a gun and solve the problem with something as lenient as death.

Sheryl crowed, flapping her wings and soon taking off from her perch to land on Crane's shoulder. Smiling, he sat up and ran his hand over her feathers. "Good evening, Sheryl. Thank you for reminding me that my night's work is not yet over." Leaning forward carefully, he took his glasses from the coffee table and gently slipped them on, then stood and headed for the basement door. "Gathering my materials went smoothly. Now it's time to check up on the medicine." He twisted the knob and pulled the door open, and looked down into the laboratory.

The walls were and floor were all stone in a light, dusty grey color, and the ceiling lights casted a warm, golden color over the entire area. Tables were spread throughout the room, bottles of chemicals, glass containers, and strange steel devices galore. It was like a factory. Liquids of all colors were being poured into large vats by several of Crane's hired thugs, each sporting rubber gloves, while the other brutish-looking men were following very careful and detailed instructions as they went about preparing it. And each of them paused in their work to look up at Crane, descending the stairs with his bird perched on his shoulder and his hands coolly clasped behind his back.

"As you were." Crane ordered, and they all soon returned to their tasks. As if one of his workers as well, Sheryl flew to her wall perch at the bottom of the staircase. Heading for the far table on the wall adjacent to the staircase, he looked over the seemingly plain miniature spray bottles, each lined neatly in a row. Leaning over to get a better look, he at the same time questioned the nearby worker, "You've checked each of these to make sure they contain the permanent solution, all ready for testing?"  
"Ya, boss. That there's the good stuff, we hope."  
"Perfect." Crane carefully took three and slipped them into his jacket pocket. "Keep up the good work."  
"What about this stuff?" One of the thugs on the opposite table lifted up the steel lid to a large container, revealing a white powder inside. A nearby man, a bit brighter than the first, planted his hand over the lid and lowered it back to cover the dangerous substance, meanwhile shaking his head as a warning.  
"Leave it." Crane replied. "It may be of some use to me in the future."  
Seeing that production was going smoothly, Crane headed back up the staircase, Sheryl rejoining him. Before the door however, he stopped and turned back to face them all. "I expect none of you to be here tomorrow night - I have important personal matters to attend to. Consider it a holiday." To his announcement, they all nodded and returned to work as Crane slipped back into his home.

* * *

Once at the hospital, Crane put on a generally thoughtful expression over his face as he approached the counter, briefcase in hand. Craning his head over slightly, he asked in a low, shy tone, "Ah, may I ask where I may find a Miss Natalie O'Neil? I believe she was brought in a couple of nights ago."  
"Yes, I remember her." The chubby nurse nodded, flipping through several papers busily. "Relation?"  
"I'm her professor at Gotham State University. I just wanted to check up and visit her. Poor girl's had it rough." Crane's eyebrows creased upwards in false concern. He then shook his head and let out a short sigh. "It's a shame when those as innocent as mere teenagers are so viciously assaulted."  
"Ya. And the poor thing only started recovering this morning." The nurse bought it. "You'll find her in room 2080."  
Smiling, Crane replied, "Thank you." before heading for the elevator. _She only showed signs of recovery this morning. So the toxin **is** temporary, and lasts three days. We can do better than that._

He found the room with general ease, and after checking to make sure no one else was inside, he entered quietly and shut the door behind him. He also double checked that the window in the door through which one could peer in showed only the short corridor to the bed - It would appear as though no one was inside. Yet still, he'd have to be quick so that none would see what he was up to.

Natalie was sleeping soundly on the bed in a hospital gown. Crane smiled as he noticed that, like Dahlia had been over a week earlier, Natalie's neck and face were bruised, and several scrapes lined her arms from the frantic struggle she had put on the other night. She might have had a bruised or broken rib or two as well - Natalie certainly was a difficult one to hold down and get to cooperate . . . He took a seat in a chair near the bed, placing his briefcase nearby, and simply began to observe and examine her, until she woke up, that is. Only minutes later, her eyes flickered open. At first, she didn't notice anyone in the room . . . but once she sensed his watching eyes, she stared with a mixture of curiosity and nervousness right back at him.

"Good morning, Miss O'Neil. How are you feeling?"  
"Like crap." She replied bluntly. It didn't take a genius to figure out that she was on to him, or at least highly suspicious, with how she looked at him and seemed frozen in her upright seated position. "I was attacked by some creep and my friends ran away without me. What do you think? I thought you were supposed to be a psychology teacher."  
Crane smiled. "Do you remember anything that happened since then?"  
"What?" Natalie had a big mouth. "No, it felt like I was in a nightmare. Every little phobia I had came to be like real life-threatening nightmares because of that asshole in a stupid mask . . . Why do you care? What are you doing here?"  
"Can you clearly visualize the culprit?"  
Natalie suddenly paused. Her eyes narrowed and her head craned forward. "Uhh, **ya** . . . I wanna know what you're doing here because I think _you're_ the big shot. Guilty as charged."

Crane dropped his jaw, as if her comment was an insult. "What makes you say that?" However, he kept his smile.  
". . . You warmed up to Vampire girl. Other people may think it's just an every day think for a teacher and a student to become friends of some sort, but not her, and not you. It's so obvious when you told me to leave that witch alone after spraying me with who knows what. And now, just as soon as the doctors hear about it, you're gonna pay." She lifted her head up high, bright enough to put pieces of a grand puzzle together, but not quite keen to see that she and Crane were alone together, and that she had just opened her mouth too far. And it was a shame, too - He still needed more information on the toxin he had given her that night, but she obviously was not willing to provide. She was a threat to him now.  
Sighing, Crane glanced down towards the floor, his hair falling to shield his face. Curiously Natalie watched him for several moments, just about to ask another pointless question, before he finally lifted his head up and removed the glasses from his face, resting them on the nearby table. His completely clear eyes gazed upon her, smile no longer planted smugly across his lips, as he asked a question that sent chills up the patient's spine.

"Would you like to see my mask?"

Her taut throat seized her desperately wanted cry for help. Crane picked up his briefcase and rested it over his lap, unclasping the buckles to open it. She shook her head, declining the cruel offer and wishing desperately now to have taken back all that she said.

"It's probably not scary to someone like you, who's courage and willpower surpasses that of many girls around your age . . ."

Slowly, she pushed herself back, trying to slide away from him, but the frame of the bed kept her from going far. Her breathing became quicker. Crane could sense her fear as he took out the scarecrow mask and held it out for her to clearly see, modeling it with a gesture of his free hand.

". . . but that only comes with some aid."

He slipped it over his head, and stood, placing the briefcase back on the desk near his glasses. Calmly he stepped closer to her, holding his arms out to his sides and slightly tilting his head to one side, peering at her through the ghoulish mask's eye holes.

"I prepared a perfect prescription, just for you, Miss O'Neil."

Just then Natalie's nerves had finally released her voice from it's cage within her chest. However, it was quickly stifled as he pulled his arm forward and released a white gas from a canister hidden within his sleeve, directly into her face. She coughed violently, writhing and dragging herself off of the bed and onto the floor, desperately trying to get away, already terrified beyond all reason. And this time, Natalie O'Neil would be stifled permanently.  



	9. In Which Dream Becomes Nightmare

* * *

_Chapter Nine: In Which Dream Becomes Nightmare_

* * *

Caitlin purposely bumped into Dahlia in the crowded hallway before classes began. At first Dahlia was going to continue on and ignore it, as she learned to do throughout the years of bullying, but the fact that Caitlin had shifted quickly to stand in her way, she grew curious of what the popular had to say. So, her eyes lifted from the floor and met Caitlin's bitter hues. For a moment she just waited there, questioning with her raised eyebrows what she was to say, shifting her weight over onto one leg.

"Natalie's condition got worse." She said in an almost suspicious manner. Dahlia listened quietly, this news very surprising on her ears, yet her compassion already gone. "I got word that just this morning, an hour or two ago, that she turned completely crazy. They said she was screaming and kicking, and every chance she got tried to either run out of the hospital or stab a nurse with a pair of scissors. She managed to get one of the doctors though, in the neck, among a few other places. They don't know if he'll make it or not." Another pause. "They decided to send her to Arkham, so she doesn't hurt herself or anyone else."  
Finally Dahlia spoke up, one of her eyebrows lifting. "Why are you telling _me_ this?"  
Caitlin stepped forward, hovering right over the shorter girl. "Because I think you have something to do with it."  
Dahlia, calm and in one of her more defensive moods, spoke up for herself, "You go ahead and think whatever you want, because as long as I know I'm innocent, nothing else matters. Plus, the Scarecrow was a _man_ around 5'10" - I'm 5'02". Get your facts straight before going and accusing people."

But as she began once again for class, Caitlin intervened again, and quickly spat out, "So what are you and Professor Nerd doing tonight?"  
"What?" She hadn't told anyone . . . so how did . . . ?  
"I was eavesdropping, duh." Caitlin rolled her eyes. "So, is this where he recruits a bunch of his slutty girl students and sleeps with them?" Dahlia then rolled her eyes, and finally shoved by Caitlin, plowing on ahead and ignoring whatever else she might have called out.

_**You're** the slut. I have nothing but the utmost respect for Professor Crane . . . I think. What was he doing last night?_

Dahlia day-dreamed and thought hard about Crane's secretive lark the previous night all during psychology. Even the dismissal bell didn't stir her from deep thoughts, only her teacher's light shake of her shoulder. "Miss Rhodes, class has ended." Dahlia shook her head and stared up at him, an apologetic look on her face for having missed most all of the lesson. Before she could say anything, he simply smiled and continued, "Rough night?"  
"Oh . . . n-no, not really." She replied, standing and gathering her things together. Crane slipped his hands into his pockets and leaned over on the desk next to Dahlia's. "I'm so sorry, Professor Crane. I just have a lot on my mind. Home life has its ups and downs too." In her hurry to organize her belongings, one of her notebooks fell from the table, but Crane swiftly reached out and caught it.  
As he handed it to her, he replied, "Don't worry, I understand. You didn't miss much."  
Smiling back, she took the notebook and put it on the stack set in front of her. Then lifting all of her things carefully, she nodded. "I swear, I'll take the time to study up over the weekend." And she quickly made her way out of the seating area, but didn't get far past the first row of desks before Crane called out to her.

"You haven't forgotten our arrangements already, have you, Miss Rhodes?"  
She had completely forgotten. But, what if the strange chemicals Crane had gathered were meant for her? What if they were meant for this seemingly innocent behavioral study? What was he going to do - Poison her and study how many times she twitched before she'd pass out?  
No no no . . . That's silly. Crane respected her and thought of her as a friend, right? And friends don't poison friends. She had to stop being so neurotic.

Dahlia turned to face him and said with a bright smile, "No, of course not, Professor! Nine o'clock, right?"  
"Yep." Crane replied. "At my home."  
"Okay. See you then." She left quickly.

* * *

It must have been at least half an hour that Dahlia spent standing at the front door to Crane's secluded home. She was, quite literally, shaking in her boots, and every time she reached out to knock on the door, something in her nerves caused her to jerk back in terror, as if it were covered in roaches and spiders. The conflicting sides in her head refused to settle, leaving her suspicious of her quiet psychology teacher, and yet at the same time unable to believe he was up to anything.

Dahlia's eyes shot up in surprise as the door creaked open, Crane standing inside with a curious look on his face. "Miss Rhodes? How long have you been standing there?"  
_Crap!_  
"Oh, h-here?" Dahlia said as a filler while she frantically thought, trying her best to be more nonchalant. "Just a second. I was just studying the . . . the beautiful architecture of your home. This place must cost a fortune."  
Glancing around to the other houses and buildings beyond the street, Crane stepped out of the door frame and replied while keeping his eyes peeled, "It's much more affordable than one would assume." Then looking to the girl with a smile, he said sweetly, "Please, come in. I'm glad you showed up."

Sheryl let out a loud shriek, startling Dahlia and causing her to suddenly turned towards the bird in an almost defensive posture. Hoping Crane didn't notice, she acted as if nothing had happened and quickly headed for the sofa, taking a seat and keeping her spine straight and upright. She quickly smoothed her bangs down over her forehead, and a nervous foot tapped to a quick and silent beat.

"You seem nervous tonight." Crane said, his eyes narrowing slightly, as he walked towards her, feet softly plodding along the plush carpet. "Is something bothering you?" As he came closer, his hands came to rest atop the sturdy back of the sofa, leaning forward in curiosity to look at Dahlia's face.

_. . . That's it, I shouldn't be so nervous. I'm probably insulting our friendship by acting like I used to, and he can probably tell. He's a psychology buff after all, and I bet he's just being polite and not saying anything. I'm so stupid . . . What's there to be nervous about? I trust Professor Crane. I **trust** him. And he deserves some trust, after allowing me inside his home and into his personal life._

Looking over her shoulder to him, Dahlia smiled and replied in as kind a tone as she could, "No, not anymore. I'm sorry, I guess I'm just having difficulty letting go of a few stresses from earlier. I'm okay now, really." She pivoted in her seat to face him.  
Nodding, Crane replied as he stood upright, "Very well. Would you like something to drink? Water, tea . . . ?"  
"No, thank you." She declined.  
He nodded once again. Then he glanced towards one of the doors of another room and said with hushed benevolence, "Ah, well, I need to prepare a few things for the study. Would you mind waiting a few minutes?"  
"No, that's okay. Take your time."  
"It will only be a moment." Crane threw her one more smile before he went off to the other room, shutting the door behind him.

As if that was some sort of cue, Sheryl fluttered from her perch and off towards the arm of the sofa Dahlia was now reclining on with relaxation. Stretching her arms out, she ran her slender fingers along the pillows and the soft fabric, a smile still planted over her face. Her cheeks were tinged a slight pink as her thoughts continued to stir around Crane. Now that she had finally managed to push her paranoia aside, she realized just how hard she was crushing on him. Being inside his house was a blessing to her, and sitting on the same sofa he must have sat on a regular basis somehow stirred up her excitement and joy.

_How crazy must I be to have not trusted Professor Crane? Oh, wait, what was his first name? Jonathan, right? Jonathan Crane . . . He has such a nice name. I bet he rounds up a lot of female admirerers, too. I'm so lucky that he chose me for this study . . . and so lucky to have him as a friend. A friend who has experience my pain at that, so he understands me, and respects me. Well, anyway, I can be so paranoid sometimes . . ._

Sheryl gave another caw as she suddenly flew off for a different door nearby the kitchen entrance, sticking her beak in the tiny creak between the actual door and its frame. Cleverly she shoved it open slightly and squeezed through, cawing several more times as if trying to alert attention . . . or trying to play the role of Lassie. Dahlia giggled to herself and leaned back forward, peering towards the door. "Sheryl, what are you up to?" She stood and sighed as she headed for the door, ready to retrieve the crow and take her back into the living room. Resting her hand on the door knob, she opened it up to step through . . .

. . . and found an amazing sight below. It was Crane's basement, and every single suspicion Dahlia had suddenly became true. Her eyes were wide open as she looked over each of the tables from the top of the stair case, slowly descending with her hand sliding down the wood rail. Though the lights weren't on, she could still make out each of the vats, the machinery, the steel containers and clipboards strewn about . . . Sheryl had found a comfortable spot on the closest table that Dahlia had then approached, gazing at the container and finding herself reaching out to touch it with curiosity. Slowly, as if it were made of a thin glass, she lifted the lid and leaned over to peer inside - It looked like a white powder. Not sure of what else it could possibly be, she concluded it to be cocaine.

So this is what Crane was doing. He was manufacturing drugs of some sort and was probably needing the poison from the chemistry class to stifle anyone who found out, right? Or maybe, he was to put the poison in the drugs themselves, to kill people or make them sick. Whatever the story was, Dahlia did not want to stick around to find out.

With haste, she turned and headed back up the stairs as quietly as she could, hushing her rapid breaths. She had to make an excuse to leave, immediately. But who would she tell, the police? Her father? The administrators at school? Anyone. Suddenly, Crane seemed such a dangerous man. However, she was probably concentrating too hard on the steps to avoid tripping . . . as she slammed right into a warm object that gave in slightly to her push. Quickly looking upwards, she came to meet the cold blue eyes of a man in a scarecrow mask. And as she let out a blood-curdling scream, he rushed forward and tackled her, and attempted to pin her up against the wall.

Eight years of Aikido martial arts were not completely gone from her memory, and Dahlia quickly put it to use as she landed an instinctive right hook into the side of the masked menace's gut. He gave a grunt and hunched forward, giving her just enough room to frantically tear away from his grip and sprint as fast as she could towards the front door and to freedom.

But freedom wouldn't come so easily. The Scarecrow's powerful hands quickly came up from behind and he wrapped his arms around her waist, lifting her up off of the floor and turning around as she flailed and continued to scream. One of her elbows managed to make contact with his face, another grunt escaping his throat, though his hold held strong. Trying her best to think and be tactful, Dahlia swiftly jerked her foot back and felt the heel of her boot make contact with his knee. His third grunt was louder than the rest, and losing his balance with the surge of pain, the two both fell onto the floor. Though this stranger too was thinking ahead, and managed to land atop her, both hands holding her wrists down above her head and his throbbing knee planted over her upper legs, doing his best to hold her down.

And it was working as well. Dahlia could only lift her abdomen from the floor, doing her best to jerk free, but no such luck. Her head turned quickly from side to side as she screamed desperately, pleading in a raspy, wailing voice, "**No!** Please, let me go! **Let me go!** Please, **please**! Don't hurt me!" As if signaling her silence, the Scarecrow pushed himself into a more upright position, adjusting Dahlia's captured wrists so that he could hold them with one hand.

His unnervingly calm voice didn't need to be so loud in volume nor sharp or demanding to grab her immediate attention. "I understand your pain, Dahlia. And I want to help you."

Dahlia's tightly shut eyes finally opened, wide, red and puffy with her sobs. She looked up to the masked man, her lips trembling with fear, as she watched him take the bottom half of the burlap sack and pull it up and off of his head. His brown locks, now free from the close captivity, fell into thin and pointed strips over his forehead and sides of his face. Still grasping the mask, he rested his hand back on the floor to help balance himself, otherwise unmoving from his dominant position over his prisoner. The same blue hues now seemed less threatening and with less malice.

". . . P-P-Prof . . . Professor . . . Crane . . . ?" 


	10. In Which Business Begins

* * *

_Chapter Ten: In Which Business Begins_

* * *

"Yes, Dahlia." Crane spoke once again as he kept his hold over Dahlia, at this point unknowing of what she would do if he were to let her go. He was already a bit short of breath and was in enough pain to notice - this girl was a lot tougher than she put on, not to mention that Crane wasn't one who was specialized in physicality. Though his knee and aching side were his main concerns regarding his body, he had failed to realize that her blow to his face had ruptured a few vessels in his nose, blood trickling out of his left nostril. "I mean you no harm."

Crane admitted to himself - She affected him. When her own fears were out plainly for others to see, and when she always seemed lonely, lost, and alone, seemingly nothing to live for and with no one to care about her . . . It only resulted in him staring at his own past. Even her fear, which he was often so used to feeding off of like some sort of psychic vampire. His footsteps into the sands of time were specifically retraced by Dahlia. And this little incident didn't help her much. Now he was sure she would forever be terrified of him . . . unless . . .

. . . unless of course he could continue to play along with being the compassionate friend. Strike up a deal. She certainly needed a friend who could understand her fears, and he could always use another playmate, another test subject and 'partner-in-crime.' Who would suspect a timid nineteen-year-old girl with no friends?

Dahlia's lips continued to tremble as she opened her mouth to speak, but no sensible words came out. Mostly a line of stutters and silent sobs, which Crane stifled with a gesture of his free hand, palm out towards her defensively. She was obviously going to be pretty shaken up about this for a while - Bullying was one thing, but being assaulted by a masked man in what she must of thought to be a safe place was bad enough. Hopefully she wasn't beyond reasoning with.

"What you found in my basement is a laboratory and my personal factory - not for drugs or whatever you may have thought. Down there, I create fear."  
"F-F . . . Fear?" She was apparently still having a mental blockade up, seeing Crane, but not yet coming to truly believe it was him. Dahlia's wrists pulled and pushed under his strong hand, and her large eyes had yet to leave his. Leaning forward slightly, looking her directly in the eyes and holding his face close to hers, he continued very calmly and with an almost whispering voice,  
"Toxins of many types, Dahlia. To install fear into any person, to remove it altogether, injections of fear pheremones . . . To strike back at the evil people of Gotham. Those who step up the social ladder by climbing over the brilliant and the gifted. The very people who even help run this city. I'm offering you a chance to join me. Together, we can hit back at the world and the cruel injustices heaped upon people like us."

Dahlia was no longer writhing or shaking. Very carefully and with great care, Crane slid his hand off of Dahlia's. Seeing that she was not already up and running for the door, he slid across the floor as he leaned back and took a seat next to her for a brief moment. He also lifted his knee from her legs, then carefully stood and took several uneven steps back to sit on the nearby armchair. Finally feeling the cool blood on his upper lip, he lifted the back of his hand to his face and wiped part of it away, leaving a blood streak on his knuckles. "At last, you will have the chance to turn the tables on your tormentors."

But he had to whip her to be of more use. Dahlia was just a kid after all, and quit a shy one at that. She was emotional, easily startled and frightened, one who was very emotionally weak. She had immense difficulty trying to cope with her fears and anxieties. She was also highly intelligent and keen on what was going on around her, a somewhat innocently devious girl. Hopefully he could train her, shape her up, while giving her all that she needed to get her much-deserved revenge. Those martial arts lessons would come in handy. Leaning back in relaxation, Crane clasped his hands in his lap as he continued to gaze down upon Dahlia's figure still lying still on his floor. Somehow, her silence and lack of recognition bothered him, as if he had really done a number on her. Believe it or not, he was almost guilty for his short attack.  
No more than a few minutes from when he has just sat there, Crane stood headed back to her, then crouched by her side and looked down to her. He also took the time to pick up the burlap mask and stuff it into his inside jacket pocket.

"You don't have to answer now if you wish. Take some time to think about it."

As if handling a fragile newborn puppy, Crane took Dahlia's hand and slowly lifted it up. Going with his gesture, she finally stirred and became alive, closing her eyes as the last of her tears ran down her cheeks. She very slowly curled up and put the bottoms of her feet on the floor, leaning forward and standing as Crane helped her as gentle as he could. As soon as she was able to stand on her own however, she quickly pulled her hand back from his and turned away.

Crane was giving her this time to think because he was almost sure that Dahlia would have refused right that moment. She would have most likely bitterly lashed back after her intense scare, and the only thing that would have done for her was get her gassed and stifled, and sent to Arkham. But if she did accept like he was hoping (or rather, leaning more towards), she could potentially become one who was just as dangerous and brilliant as himself. She had the psychological background to live up to it if she chose to. All he needed was for her to accept.

". . . You were the one who attacked Natalie, weren't you?" Dahlia turned to face Crane after what seemed like hours of silence. She had taken the bottom sleeve of her shirt to dry the tears from her cheeks, though her eyes were still red, at least now relaxed. Not at all surprised that she had done her addition of circumstances and clues, Crane nodded almost proudly to answer her question. What was so intriguing however was the strange gaze she held on him - Her black eyes didn't need to be brilliantly colored to strike his interest, to capture his attention, mirroring his own. Something behind them were the same as when she looked upon him as simply her psychology professor, with that trust and respect . . .

"Caitlin had a lot of guts to keep shoving me around after that night with Natalie . . . Gossip goes around pretty loud, about how everyone should lighten up on me because Natalie was attacked for it. Life's been so much easier with less harassment . . . but Caitlin's got even more attitude than Natalie. She wouldn't leave me alone this morning, and was spying on me the other day . . ."

The corners of Crane's lips stretched into a pleased smile.

Dahlia finished, determination in her firmer voice, "I'm sick of being shoved around and treated like a dog."


	11. In Which Her First Hunt is Done

* * *

_Chapter Eleven: In Which Her First Hunt is Done_

* * *

"Cat, today's going to be one of the most important days of my life."

Dahlia was all anger, ambition, and confidence. She didn't fear anything, other than failure. If anything was going to get in her way, it would either be herself or death. She was very thirsty for vengeance, and Crane's tempting offer had appealed to her in so many ways. 'A chance to turn the tables on her tormentors' . . . Splendid. Simply splendid. That sold it. Besides, she was wise - If she had declined, he probably would have poisoned her, too, to silence her. No fear of that however. Dahlia accepted quite willingly.

Pacing about her small room in only her black underwear, she spoke to her feline friend as she picked out the day's clothes, "Professor Crane gave me a bottle of his special formula last night too, Cat. He said it was permanent like the gas he used on Natalie at the hospital. She went so crazy that they sent her to Arkham, a place for the criminally insane. Arkham! Can you imagine?" Finding a suitable ankle-length rippled skirt that she had never worn before, Dahlia began to slip it on. "She must have been completely out of her mind for that to happen. This isn't a poison - It's like justice in a bottle. It serves her right." Quickly flipping through her closet, she also found a clean long-sleeved and unhemmed shirt. She hid it with an oversized black hooded sweater.

"It's completely just, right, Cat?" The black cat just yawned and stretched out across Dahlia's pillow on her side, lightly clawing at the bed frame. Dahlia nodded. "Right. An eye for an eye. And after getting beat up and tripped and getting my things stolen for years, I think I deserve to dish out some fear too." To finish up her preparations for school, the goth headed to her vanity mirror and spread on some lip gloss and light eye shadow. It was one of her rare times wearing makeup, but she wanted to start looking better for Crane. Even her scare the previous night didn't break her attraction to him. She smiled at her reflection, and batted her eyelashes, practicing her charisma. Then turning back to Cat, she nodded once again before hiding the spray bottle of toxin under her skirt and in her thigh-length fishnet stocking.

"I deserve some peace once in a while. And I'm going to get it."

There was one other thing that Dahlia grabbed before heading off, and that was one of her favorite possessions from her childhood that her grandmother had given her. It was a white porcelain mask, with black ribbons hanging from each side. It had only one large and narrow eye hole, the other shut eye painted on and decorated with black gems, and a long and narrow, toothless grin. Both high and elegant cheek bones were red with rouge.

She hid it in her other fishnet stocking.

* * *

"So how is he?" Caitlin side stepped from her group of friends to stand in front of Dahlia. The only thing that kept Dahlia from plowing through this time was curiosity of what she planned to say next. But all it provided was more anger, as she continued in a sarcastic and cruel tone, "Bet he wasn't energetic enough to keep a slut like you entertained in the sack, huh?"  
"Get bent." And so she did plow through . . . only to feel an unpredicted shove from behind, sending her onto her knees and causing her to drop her books. Laughter followed, and Dahlia only sighed furiously to herself as she gathered her things before many people stepped on them.

"I'm taking over now that Natalie's out of the picture, Witchy." Caitlin hovered over Dahlia, planting an uncomfortably firm hand over the girl's black hair. "Talk to me like that again, and I'll finish the job that Natalie started." Dahlia slapped it away and quickly jogged off.

As usual, she was in Crane's classroom early, and took advantage to have some private chit chat with him. Upon entering the door, she saw him reclining at his desk, just like any other day, but noticed that while he was reading papers he held in one hand, his other hand was gently massaging his side. Before he even noticed her there, she stepped forward and said in an openly sympathetic tone, "I'm so sorry about that, Professor Crane. I didn't even think about it when I did it."

Looking up from his notes, Crane at first held a confused look on his face, but then too realized that he had just given away the sore muscle in his abdomen. He glanced down to the hidden bruise, then back up to Dahlia as he smiled, "Oh, no, Miss Rhodes. It wasn't your fault, after all. You certainly do put up quite a decent fight, though." She smiled bashfully, still feeling quite guilty, and he continued. "You seem much better from last night. Are you feeling well today?"  
"Mm hm." With shut lips, she replied. Her shoulders and back were still bruised and ached from being pinned to the floor so firmly, but she was sure that that's not what he meant. "I'm fine, Professor."  
Placing the papers down, Crane leaned forward and spoke, cautious of their privacy in the unlocked room, "Miss Rhodes, now that we are associates in this endeavor for justice, I do insist that you refer to my by my first name." Smiling, he purred, "Jonathan."  
Dahlia replied with a sassy glance, "Only if you do the same for me."

The bell rang, and suddenly the door swung open with students marching in. Dahlia nodded to Crane, ready to continue the more important part of her intended conversation at a more opportune time, as she headed up to her seat.

* * *

So Caitlin truly wasn't as rich or high-class as she let on at the university. Peering carefully around the corner of the building, Dahlia watched her leave a fast food restauraunt with a bag of french fries in hand, munching on them as if she hadn't eaten in weeks. This long day of stalking proved quite embarrassing for Caitlin, had she have found out. Her most hated enemy now knew of her basic home life, her extreme vanity, and her lack of implied wealth, among many other things. Though Dahlia did admit, she could put on a pretty good front for the other students, but once out of the gates, she was just an average person.

Finally, finally the shielding night had come down in full bloom. The stars were dull, and the cloudy sky helped conceal the darkness. Perfect. It was time.

Hidden behind a dumpster in an alley, Dahlia stripped off her sweatshirt and took out the tie in her hair, letting it hang straight down and to her shoulder blades. Hiking up her skirt, she took the porcelain mask, then placed it over her face and tied it with the black ribbon, making sure to hide it underneath her hair. She dumped the sweatshirt and ripped off the top layer of her skirt as well, leaving just the thick knee-length slip underneath.

And calmly, she slipped back out onto the generally empty street. Caitlin was still in view, seemingly wandering aimlessly up ahead at the next block. But Dahlia kept her cool - She followed calmly and with patience, ignoring the confused or amused stares of the passer-bys. With every step she grew closer and closer, until finally she found Caitlin quite conveniently parked at a deserted street corner, digging through her purse. Slowly she stalked up behind her, careful of the potentially noisey heels of her boots. "Ugh, where is it . . ." Caitlin said aloud, completely oblivious.

No one was looking, or even in the immediate area. . . . Dahlia took her opportunity. Thrusting her hand forward, she clenched onto Caitlin's bleach blonde hair and was quick in yanking her back, the girl shouting in pain and dropping her bag. The alley behind the corner store would suffice. The white-masked mystery kept pulling and pulling, and once far enough back between the narrow walls, she jerked Caitlin back and up against the fence.

"What the hell . . . !" Caitlin planted both hands on the back of her head, slightly hunched over as she glared up at the stranger. "Who the hell are you?" Dahlia stepped forward and placed a swift kick into her chest, knocking her back onto her hind quarters and knocking the wind out of her. After coughing, Caitlin lifted herself up slowly, now her eyes holding fear. It was the kind of fear Dahlia had always held inside herself, and finally seeing it in the eyes of her enemies was thrilling and exciting, and dangerously joyous.

"Remember me." Was the last thing Dahlia said before she slowly lifted up her skirt to her thigh, taking the bottle of fear toxin from her stocking, and spraying it into Caitlin's blanched face.

Unfortunately, Dahlia didn't realize that it wouldn't have been that easy for her. Now that Caitlin was hallucinating and seeing things no other person was seeing, she was screaming in terror, backing herself up into a corner and refusing to remained silent. It was quite annoying on her ears. The sounds had attracted a male pedestrian who immediately ran into the alley. "What's wrong?" He half asked, half shouted in worry. Dahlia turned around in surprise, feeling her heart begin to beat fast with adrenalin. "Hey, you! What are you doing to that girl!" She couldn't risk getting caught whatsoever. So she rushed forward, and once close enough, leapt into the air and landed another swift kick, this time into this man's neck, knocking him away and knocking him out. As soon as she was back on the ground, she scrambled off and didn't look back.

* * *

"Cat . . . Tonight was the best night of my life . . ."

Dahlia was stretched out on her side next to Cat, cradling the porcelain mask in her hands. She held it close to her face and studied its contours, smiling to it, and running her fingers across the smooth texture. "You should have seen her face . . . She was so frightened of me . . . She was screaming as if she were crawling with spiders, or face to face with rabid wolves. Who knows what was flashing in front of her eyes with the toxin's effects . . .

"And the best part is that she won't be kicking me around anymore."  



	12. In Which the Dark Knight Appears, Part 1

* * *

_Chapter Twelve: In Which the Dark Knight Appears, Part I_

* * *

"Quite a dazzling performance, if I do say so myself, Dahlia." Crane leaned over his desk and smiled as he saw her enter the classroom. Only a day since her scare and their partnering up, and already she managed to prove herself not quite as useless as he would have thought. "Huh?" She was confused as to what he meant. Relaxing his eyes, Crane took the newspaper he had just been reading and tossed it onto the opposite side of the desk towards her. The front page read in bold letters, "NEW VILLAIN LURKS OVER GOTHAM." With her mouth slightly agape, Dahlia quickly skimmed over the article. Several seconds later, she looked up to Crane and said with a quirked eyebrow and a devious grin, " 'Banshee?' "  
"Your first hunt, and already you've been given a title." He replied. "Congratulations, Dahlia. I'm only disappointed that I wasn't there to see it." She grinned a thank you, then looked back to the paper to continue reading. It mentioned that the attacker of a Gotham U student had been terrorized and turned uncontrollably insane by an unknown woman wearing all flowing and black clothes with a white face like an evil spirit. The only clues from the witness was that the petite woman was about 5'05" in height with great skill in martial arts, and policemen believe she was around 22 to 30 years of age.  
Seeing that she was indeed reading through it all and had gotten beyond the attacker's description, Crane commented, "You'll know it's a good hunt if any witnesses have inaccurate observations." Dahlia smiled once again, and once finished with the article, sighed happily and glanced back up to Crane.  
"You should have seen the terror in her eyes. It was one of the most thrilling and happy experiences of my life."

"I'm sure it was." Crane nodded. "However, now we must get on the subject of business."  
"Oh?" Dahlia's face suddenly seemed to drop in worry, most likely suspicious of what he meant exactly. Reassuringly, Crane continued after a smile,  
"No need to fear, my dear. It's simply an issue of funding. It is highly expensive to manufacture the fear toxin, and without the proper payments, it cannot be done. Needless to say, my salary doesn't cut it, and it would take years to save up . . ."  
"So what you're saying is we need money, now." Dahlia nodded along, following the conversation like a natural, though uncomfortable with speaking aloud on how they were to acquire the cash. She left that for him.  
"Our last attempt at the bank was . . . disrupted, by the Bat-man." He spoke the name with a tinge of irritation and subtle sarcasm. After all, apart from the foolish and often corrupt policemen, Batman was the only thing standing in their way of their vision of justice. "But, with you there and armed with the ambition and weaponry I myself hold, I believe tonight's heist will be successful."  
"**Tonight?**" Dahlia said with a bit of surprise.  
"Late notice, I know." Crane replied. "But this funding is very much needed, and as soon as possible. Our resources are abating to nothing. Are you able to do it?"  
Dahlia nodded. "Of course, Professor."  
Crane turned his head to the side as he kept his eyes on Dahlia, raising his eyebrows.

"Oh . . . _Jonathan_." She giggled.

* * *

That night, Crane and Dahlia met up in a secluded area outside the grungy Narrows and together headed for the bank, which at this time was already crawling with Crane's thugs busy at work. The main vault was wide open and vulnerable, the security systems down and camera's smashed. Sacks and bundles of paper money were being carried out to several large vans parked off in the alley one worker at a time. And as the two entered, masked as both the renowned Scarecrow and newly discovered Banshee, each thug paused in his work to look up to their leaders. The Scarecrow stepped up first and ordered, "From now on, you will carry out Miss Dahlia Rhodes' orders as if given from me." He paused as he gestured to his accomplice. "Back to work, men." And so they continued.

"Now, listen up." Crane then turned to Dahlia, whose one exposed eye looked up to him after only hesitantly tearing away from the scene. He spoke softly, though firmly - Any one blunder and they could put their little fund-raiser into jeopardy. "Keep your eyes open and your senses alert. If you see or hear any unusual movements in the shadows, the ceiling, anywhere . . . do not hesitate from telling one of these lackeys to check it out, or to inform me about it."  
"Roger that."

For the next few minutes, Crane ran his short paces, making sure everyone was working and making sure that their cash was safe and ready for deporting. Now and then he would bark out orders to hurry it up, or to be more cautious of what was around them. After all, only those could handle firearms and fight with their fists were hired - Higher intelligence and, occasionally, common sense wasn't a necessity. Finally, Dahlia approached him as he stood near one of the enormous room's pillars, leaning over one man's shoulder to monitor his job. "How much money do we need?"  
Without turning and with his hand clasping his hand over his wrist behind his back, Crane replied coolly, "Two million should cover the costs for a while."  
"**Two million?**" Her surprise turned his eyes towards her. "That much? Aren't a lot of people going to be poor, or bankrupted after this?"

No, no, no . . . Dahlia seemed to be getting out of touch with the vengeance she had wanted so dearly just the night before. Though wearing such a hideous mask, Crane stood up straight and assumed the friendly professor role once again. Reaching out his hands to the sides of her shoulders, he reasoned carefully. "Dahlia . . . The people of Gotham will endure. Even without money, they can survive during the most remarkable circumstances. We need this money more than they do. We need to purge Gotham of its corrupt businessmen, its bullies and teenage delinquents, its citizens who choose to mock and ridicule innocent people like us just to upsurge their own self worth . . . Only then can Gotham begin to heal and attain its original glory."  
He knew very well that Dahlia was attracted to him, possibly obsessed with him because of her loneliness and seclusion from such kindness that he had shown her - It seemed quite easy for those in her kind of position to obsess. So, he didn't require much use of long speeches or flashy words to get her to see it 'his way.' After a few seconds, she nodded. The familiar lifting of muscles in her face and under her eyes shown through that one eye hole indicated her smile.

As Crane stepped away to once again monitor the job, he snuck in a a quick, but soft, and affectionate slide of his slender fingers over the base of her exposed neck. While watching the funds get passed along, he heard the quiet, happy sigh Dahlia gave, and smiled deviously behind the burlap sack.

Meanwhile, two thugs carried a particularly heavy sack of money to a van outside, stealth on their side under the night's shadows. They moved quickly, and unfortunately their shuffling feet were noisy on the concrete as they sidled towards the back doors of the vehicle. "Man, this weighs a ton."  
"Just shut up and hurry. We need to get out of here before that bat creature shows up."  
But their conversation was interrupted by a swift blackness that suddenly swallowed them up from above. The heavy sack of money fell to the ground with a thud.

One by one, the men exited the building to load up their haul, but after only a few minutes, Crane began to become suspicious. After the fourth man had left and not returned, he kept wary eyes on the doors and out the windows, watching for those tell-tale signs, but found nothing. Still, it didn't take a genius to figure out what had happened to them, if one put aside their stupidity. Though it was not likely for _Him_ to reveal himself the easy way.

As he walked by Dahlia to head nearer to the bank vault, he had patted a hand on her shoulder and warned, "Stay alert. We're not alone." Picking up on the job far better than he thought yet still, he heard her bark out,  
"Pick up the pace, guys. Get moving!"  
One worker's loud cry echoed within the auditorium of a room, and immediately everyone stopped what they were doing to look around, some already fearful of what was to come and crouching defensively. Several continued on with the job, running money out to the vans as others seemed suddenly clueless as to what to do. Their quick and low chatter began to fill the air. Crane only kept watching the ceilings, his hand ready to deliver the toxin should it be required.

Suddenly, one row of ceiling lights was quickly wiped out one by one as a piercing, whip-like sound rang out, casting half of the room into shadows. This had finally managed to startle Dahlia, and she dropped to her knees nearby one of the enormous marble columns to avoid any projectiles that may have been aimed at her. "Who, or what the hell is it!"

With his unblinking eyes scoping the ceiling, Crane replied bitterly.

"The Bat-man." 


	13. In Which the Dark Knight Appears, Part 2

* * *

_Chapter Thirteen: In Which the Dark Knight Appears, Part II_

* * *

Several seconds later, the second row of ceiling lights were all taken out, sparks sprouting like fireworks as each lamp and bulb were destroyed. And as the responsible object planted itself into the column nearby, Dahlia jerked her head downwards in surprise. It was an intense and frightening situation, with guns going off in every direction, men shouting or screaming in fear, and darkness engulfing the entire bank. This ringing chaos was worse than any rock concert. Slowly, Dahlia lifted her head up, opening her eyes, and she came face to face with an odd looking metal device stuck in the pillar. She could barely make out its dark golden color, and its familiar shaping of a bat.

Yes, so this was the Batman. She never would have expected to be so terrified of a man masquerading around as a bat, but it truly _was_ terrifying. She frantically looked around for Crane, half out of worry, half for comfort or some amount of protection. It took her eyes several moments to adjust to the darkness, but she managed to see him heading off in the distance, disappearing behind a row of desks.

Another thug cried out as he was suddenly lifted up to the ceiling and silenced, his AK falling to the ground and shooting off another round into the wall. Dahlia cringed, then took her chance and sprinted as fast as she could towards where Crane had run off to. However, one of the few remaining thugs had suddenly darted out from behind another pillar and the two collided, both falling over. He hysterically pushed her aside as he half crawled, half dragged himself off to hide underneath a table while Dahlia backed herself up as far as she could go, able to go no further with the wall in her way. But the Batman was there too, dropping to the ground and smashing the table in half, the wood exploding upon impact and scattering shards and broken chips about.

Dahlia watched in terror as the Batman disarmed the thug, and the two others with another thrown projectile. His movements were so rapid, so confusing and unclear to her eyes. All she could see was his black cape whisking about as he knocked out each thug quickly, moving like a phantom. And finally, the area was quiet, and the only ones left were Dahlia and the Batman. He turned to face her, and for the first time, she had a clear view. He was completely clad in black armor, the only sign of mortality showing being his eyes and part of his face. Then, with those glaring and completely serious eyes, he approached her. Her mouth opened to scream and cry for help, but she was unable to. Her eyes wanted to look away, but they were locked on, watching this predator approach and counting down the seconds until it would be upon her.

But today was a lucky day. The Batman would not have her this night. Suddenly, the Scarecrow vaulted over a nearby desk as queerly as a grasshopper, and landed noisily behind the caped crusader. As he turned to ready what looked like a punch, the Batman then got a face full of fear toxin, sprayed from the bottle hidden in Crane's sleeve. He jerked several times awkwardly and drew back, somehow able to keep on his feet as the now dominant Scarecrow slowly continued forward, hunched slightly. Dahlia was finally able to breath as she watched in intense fascination as he kept pushing the Batman back with his mere presence, speaking in a low and cruelly twisted tone. "Ahhh, something wrong?" The Batman tripped down the short flight of stairs, rolling down onto the main level as he continued to back away, stuttering as he desperately held in his fear. "Something bothering you?" The Scarecrow carefully followed, his pattern very tactful as he angled the Batman to scoot away towards the open vault. Dahlia got to her feet to better see the scene unfold.

Finally the Batman had gotten back up to his feet in weak attempt to defend himself. The Scarecrow tilted his head back slightly, in a cocky manner, and finished, "You look like you could use some quality time by yourself to sort out your feelings." And quickly rushing forward, he didn't need any physical push to get the Batman to scramble backwards in panic, tripping over a sack of money and falling inside the vault. Scarecrow quickly went to grab the heavy door and pull it back with all his might, softly cackling to himself and to torment the Batman. Several moments later, the vault was sealed and locked.

Dahlia was frozen in spot, staring at the shut vault, the events that had just unfurled repeating in her head over and over again. Before she knew it, the alarm was triggered, purposely it seemed, and Crane had suddenly grabbed her wrist and was dragging her out of the bank and to one of the vans in the alley. His words echoed in her head. "We'll have to gather the rest some other time. For tonight, this much will do." And he quickly nudged her into the passenger's seat, then got behind the wheel and drove off as the police sirens began to approach from the opposite direction of the street.

* * *

He parked the van off behind his home, and was hastily carrying their loot inside and to the basement one bag at a time. She remained seated rigidly in the passenger's seat of the vehicle, staring down at her feet with the mask still pulled over her face. Though the Batman was gone and she was safe, somehow she still felt vulnerable. The vigilante her father so often ranted of had appeared, and she got to see him face to face. And she survived, and wasn't in jail.

And Crane had saved her. Her affection for him only skyrocketed after his brave display, like a knight in dusty, dismal armor. But, still . . . What would become of him now? Was the Batman to be put behind bars or executed after this, after he would be caught by the police? In his eyes, their heist was viewed as completely wrong, while to them, it was for justice, to help free Gotham of the corrupt and cruel . . .

"Dahlia."  
Slowly she lifted her face up to gaze up to Crane, who had opened the passenger door and was leaning forward over her. For several moments they were silent, Dahlia only waiting for what he would say. Something along the lines of 'Be more careful next time' or 'Why didn't you help stop the Batman?' She did prove herself pretty useless this night, in her mind. But he didn't say anything of the sort. This time, his voice was kind and reassuring, as he said, "This was a more intense night than I would have anticipated. Rest assured, this type of encounter is very rare. I apologize for putting you through it so early on in this business."  
". . . I understand. It wasn't your fault . . ." Dahlia shook her head, closing her eyes as she reached up to untie the ribbons to the mask. And as she removed it and held it in her lap, she continued, ". . . It was the Batman . . . But it's okay. I'm okay . . ."

She felt his fingers rest under her chin and gently force her to look up at him once again. As she opened her eyes, she found him smiling down to her. "He won't take you, so long as I am here. I promise." A pause, before she nodded and smiled back. Still though, his hand did not leave her face, as he trailed his fingers up to then rest on her cheek. They became hot with blush, which he either didn't acknowledge or didn't notice. "Now, let's get this money into the basement and figure out how to attain the rest of our funds."  
". . . Okay." Crane helped escort Dahlia out of her seat, and the two quickly went to take in that night's earnings. 


	14. In Which Business Booms

* * *

_Chapter Fourteen: In Which Business Booms_

* * *

_At least she seems to be picking herself up easily. A few reassuring words now and then, some physical indication of affection, and she's satiated._

Crane fell deeper and deeper into his mental ramblings of his young partner in crime as he headed down the long, chaotic corridor of the university to his classroom. So far, things seemed steady and easy to maintain. Dahlia seemed even more trusting in the devious Crane, and he kept her tied around his finger. She was so terrified of disappointing him or failing him that it was almost flattering. The word 'perfect' would not soon wear out. It was. It truly was a perfect situation. And he could immediately tell the difference in her behavior and thought patterns after joining up with him. So few times she stood up for herself and defended herself against the bullies. Though she did know martial arts and how to physically defend herself, she held back whenever the right circumstances rolled around - Even when he had attacked her as the Scarecrow. Why? Only she knew. Perhaps because she was just that timid, and too afraid to lift a finger in fear of failure. Or too scared to remain calm and to think. And now, she seemed to rise to the occasion whenever it called for some skill.

As predicted, once Crane reached the psychology classroom, he found Dahlia waiting for him - Her new routine. She was half walking, half skipping about the perimeter of the room, meanwhile reading off her class notes and humming some cheerful tune to herself. Something seemed different about her, however, apart from her mood of course . . . Was she wearing makeup? Yes, her white skin was usually left boldly undecorated, and now she appeared as though her lips, cheeks, and eyes suddenly bloomed in color and definition. Dahlia actually looked better - She was much prettier than she let on. But of course Crane knew it was solely to look better for him and to gain his attention. It did work though, he'd give her that. He opened the door with an amused smile.

"Good morning, Jonathan!" An unusually happy and bubbly Dahlia immediately shoved her papers away in her notebook and quickly jogged over to him, an enormous smile on her face. She clasped her hands behind her back and rocked back and forth on the heels of her shined boots, obviously expecting some sort of report.  
As he went to his desk to place his briefcase down, Crane provided, "Dahlia, you look quite beautiful and cheerful today." Her thanks was returned with a girlish laugh as she followed him to his desk and watched him prepare his lesson. "I assume you have not taken a look at this morning's newspaper. He's quite a clever little bat." Crane slipped the daily paper out from his briefcase and handed it to her. The headline read, 'MYSTERIOUS BANK ROBBERY - SCARECROW AND BANSHEE SUSPECTED.'  
"Oh, they didn't find Batman?" Dahlia immediately understood, her eyebrows furrowing as she skimmed through the first few lines of the article.  
"I highly doubt that we have seen the last of him.

"Now, I must ask that you please come with me to my private office down the hall."  
Dahlia looked directly at him, head slightly lowered in curiosity. "Hm? Sure, but for what?"  
As he began flipping through his few keys and headed towards the door, leaving his briefcase behind and Dahlia following obediently, he explained, "Mr. Frank Kendrick has requested an immediate session with me, just a matter of business. A simple task for a good sum of money. Just the easy opportunity we need to increase our funding."  
"Oh, interesting." Dahlia replied as she exited through the door Crane held open for her. She waited nearby in the hall as he began to lock it behind them. "What is it?"  
"That's what we are to discuss with him in this meeting. Follow me."

Several minutes later, Crane entered his secluded office with Dahlia quickly following. It was small and felt crowded with the large desk and file cabinets, but it was private, and he shared it with no one. The window shades were always left closed for added privacy, and so the bright light sparkling in from the edges and corners of the window were barely of any use when he might need to write or read something. It was a meeting room, nothing more. And his first client of the day, a disgruntled looking Frank Kendrick, sat waiting in the cheap office chair. He was a stocky, balding, middle-aged man of average height in an expensive suit, and with unfriendly beady eyes hidden behind oval glasses. "Crane!" He practically shouted as he saw the professor enter, his voice thick and loud. "Finally, you're here!"  
"Calm yourself, Mr. Kendrick." He didn't particularly like Kendrick, but if it was for cash, he would have to endure the obnoxious man. We don't want unwanted ears eavesdropping on our meeting." Dahlia entered behind him, and closed and locked the door.  
"Okay, now, what I want is . . ." Kendrick trailed off as Crane went to take a seat and unveiled Dahlia's presence behind him, and stared at her with the kind of disgust an arrogant aristocrat would give to a homeless beggar living out of a cardboard box. "Hey, what's with the kid?" Dahlia's eyes narrowed slightly, insulted. But before she could speak up, Crane leaned forward slightly and answered first. If things were to go smoothly in the ordeal and free from annoying setbacks, he'd have to get her role across early on.  
"This is Miss Dahlia Rhodes, Mr. Kendrick. My assistant and colleague. I ask that you treat her with some respect, as she will be just as much use to you as I."

Crane could tell that Kendrick wasn't so easily trusting and tolerant of her, but they had more important matters to speak of. Waving his hand at Dahlia, Kendrick simply said, "Moving on. Anyway, Crane, I need this job done as soon as possible, tonight even if you're able. Ya see, I recently found out that my wife has been cheating on me with another man."  
Interrupting impatiently, Crane said in a low voice, "I don't handle personal affairs, Mr. Kendrick." He was quite serious when it came to his business, and oddly enough, had good taste in his jobs. At first, the fat business man was silent, his mouth slightly open and saliva shining on his thin lips. His eyes glanced back and forth between Crane and Dahlia several times before finally blurting out.

"I'll pay you one million, cash."  
Kendrick had mentioned something of his wife cheating on him. Obviously, he wished for them to gas either her or her new lover - A small, every-day task for a decent sum of money. Though Crane decided on his own to take up the small job, he looked to Dahlia for some hint to what she herself thought. She only returned the blank gaze, then silently nodded her head.  
Looking back to Kendrick, he gave a small smile and replied in a lighter tone, "Very well, Mr. Kendrick. We accept." He paused. "Shall we discuss what this job will consist of?"  
"Simple, Crane, simple. I just want you to give my wife, Amelia, a little taste of fear. Poison her, gas her, you just do your thing to make sure she never disobeys her master again." He stopped in his aloud thinking to await Crane's nodding of confirmation.  
"My mansion, tonight. Be there, and be ready for a fun time."

* * *

" 'Master' . . . Can you believe that?" Dahlia began to rant aloud shortly after being picked up by Crane and his van full of thugs. The two masked villains sat in the back with most of the other men, on their way to Kendrick's. The Banshee's arms were crossed over her chest, and her head down as she glared down to the silver floor. "What an asshole. I mean, having an affair is bad, of course, but treating his own wife like his little servant? What a pig. No wonder she cheated on him. We should just spray them both and take everything they have." She scoffed.  
After several seconds of silence, Crane's slowly smiled and he let a soft chuckle echo behind closed lips. He found it amusing how she seemed to take control of her own increasingly crafty mind with only a little bit of his help now and then. Admittedly, he did like her. She was a bright girl, and a lot stronger than she let on, at least once properly motivated. And finally, he began to realize just how similar they were in past, and now in present. It was only a shame that she weren't older - She may have been quite a fine woman, even for the lone wolf, Crane.  
Once Dahlia had glanced up to him in curiosity, he replied with his usual calmness, "Don't worry, my dear. Mr. Kendrick will eventually get his just reward."

Frank Kendrick's mansion bore some good similarities to the infamous Wayne Manor - Large, lavish, and luxurious, and built atop a short hill a little ways from the city. Surrounded by trees and a gate for privacy. When the van pulled up to the intercom, Crane's thug behind the wheel exchanged a few short bits of dialogue back and forth before the gate was opened and allowed them inside. And once they reached the front door after driving through what seemed like miles of green grass and luscious scenery, Kendrick emerged to greet them.  
"Good, you're here!" He called out as he quickly headed towards the vehicle. The driver stepped out and opened the back doors, assisting Dahlia out as Crane met up with Kendrick.  
"As planned, Mr. Kendrick." The disguised Crane said, his eyes thin behind the scarecrow mask with the rise of his cheeks, caused by a hidden smile. "I'm always on time." Dahlia then stepped up to Crane's side, also disguised with both her white porcelain mask and in ragged black clothing.

"Come in, come in! Amelia should be home shortly." Kendrick said with a laugh as he gestured openly for both of them to enter. As Crane went ahead and sauntered in as if he owned the estate, Dahlia meanwhile had to be urged with a slight, friendly push from the stocky man to get her feet moving - Crane could tell she really hated the guy. Then leading the group to the large sitting room, Kendrick continued, "So, tell me what you plan to do. I'm sure a smart guy like you was able to come up with just the right poison for that whore." Dahlia stood several feet behind her professor, and the four thugs accompanying them took guard-like positions around the perimeter, each holding a firearm for security.

Still smiling, Crane glanced to Dahlia, who returned a questioning look. He gave a slight nod of his head towards Kendrick while his back was turned, hoping she would understand to be on her toes for what he had just conjured up in the sly mechanics of his brain. Clearing his throat to get Kendrick's attention, Crane said in a subtly cheery voice as he took several easy going steps forward, his hands clasped behind his back, "Mr. Kendrick, I assume you know who Mrs. Kendrick has been having an affair with."  
He snorted. "No, but as soon as I find out, I'm-"  
"-Mr. Paul Herald. One of your associates in business, if I'm not mistaken."  
". . . What?" Kendrick's face stretched out with the widening of his eyes, clearly quite shocked. "Paul?"  
"Mm-hm." Crane replied, motionless, watching him from the corners of his eyes. "I hear he has quite a fine salary, making about as much as you do a year."  
"Paul . . . But, what does his salary have to do with anything?"

A snap of his fingers grabbed Dahlia's attention, and she stepped forward, alert. Making sure she was nearby to protect him, Crane then took several more steps forward and continued. "I apologize, Mr Kendrick, but I'm afraid that I must cut our deal off. You see, Mr. Herald too had offered me a job just this afternoon - To take care of you. He cares a great deal for your wife, it seems."

No millionaire went without something to defend himself with, especially if they didn't have guards milling about at all hours - Kendrick's hand carefully slid up the seam of his buttoned jacket, his fingers nervously picking at his tie. ". . . You damned rat! You white-collar geek, I'll get you for this, Crane!"

Just as he planned. As quickly as Kendrick pulled out an automatic handgun from inside his jacket, Crane had grabbed Dahlia's arm and shoved her forward. And just as he planned, her unexpected adrenalin rush gave her an extra boost of quickness and energy as she spun like a top and struck the gun away with the back of her knuckles. She continued an instinctive follow-up, landing first a left hook and then a hard roundhouse kick to his fat neck. The blow toppled both of them over, Kendrick falling back against and sliding down the wall as Crane jerked his arm out to catch Dahlia. She immediately shot a wide-eyed glare up to him and muttered sarcastically with a slight panic and pant in her voice, "Thanks for the warning!"  
"Hmm." Crane chuckled.

And within the next few minutes, Frank Kendrick was gassed, gagged, bound, and tossed into the back of the van and ready for delivery to Gotham's harbor. What they could find inside the safe in his bedroom was taken, and not much later, Paul Herald and Amelia Kendrick arrived to pay for the night's work._  
_


	15. In Which She is But a Child

* * *

_Chapter Fifteen: In Which She is But a Child_

* * *

_**Side Talk**  
I would first like to say that I immensely appreciate the support and all the wonderful comments I have received on this fan fiction piece, my first one ever attempted. I think I finally feel that all my hard work researching into the character of Jonathan Crane and developing my non-canon character, Dahlia Rhodes, were not in vain. Seonedevinian, Silvercell, Kenderbender, Winged Seraph, Murchadh, and Eccentric Banshee, just to name a few, the rest, you know who you are - I thank you all for the wonderful feedback and constructive criticism (especially on those typo mistakes I had. That snapped the laziness out of me). Trust me, your comments do not fall onto def ears. You're the reason I have continued on with this story and gave me some confidence, the few who took the time to make a comment and help me along. It's not like this is ever going to be a published piece I would make money off of, but I put my greatest effort into everything I do, and every little bit helps. Now, forgive my OOC rambling. :) On to chapter fifteen.__**  
**_

* * *

The past couple of days had been quite exhausting. Monday night she took care of Caitlin, then Tuesday night, she accompanied Crane to the bank for the robbery, where the Batman decided to make a surprise appearance. Then last night, Frank Kendrick was robbed of all the money they could gather from his estate. A lot of activity had been going around, and during school time at that. Dahlia was begging herself to ask Crane for a break as she barely managed to trudge to her classes in the morning, bags under her eyes and completely devoid of stamina. But she didn't quite realize _how_ dead tired she was until the slightest accidental bump sent her to the floor on her back. "Urgh . . ." She moaned. Of course, no one bent down to help her up, all either afraid of her or hating her, or both. And she didn't feel like picking herself up either. Maybe she could just fall asleep there and gain some energy, or better yet, just sleep forever. Why did she need to wake up anyway? They had money, her main aggressors were locked up in the looney bin . . . No reason she could see. Sleep . . . Sleep . . . 

In a matter of seconds, Dahlia had indeed fallen asleep right in the middle of the hallway, only to be awaken no more than two minutes later by the first bell. Boy, was that loud. Groaning loudly, she shook the laziness from her arms and legs and picked herself and her things up, then gathered focus into her feet to take her to class.

And of course, in each class she just managed to catch the start of each lesson before falling asleep. After psychology, Crane immediately recognized her exhaust, and with the sweetest voice like that of an angel, he told her to go home and rest up for as long as she needed. And so she did, for about eight hours, passed out on the couch and dead to the world.

Around nine o'clock, she stirred upon hearing her father's loud rantings of the Batman. ". . . It's true that he managed to stop the first bank robbery, but he was useless in the second attempt. That nuisance should just leave the law in the police officers' hands!" Squinting her tired eyes towards him, she saw a phone up between his cheek and shoulder as he slipped on a pair of socks. Ready to head back out to work. "We're hired for the job and we take care of it. If Batman interferes, then the attention is no longer on us and we're pushed aside. There's no more respect, so there's simply more crime!"  
"The law shouldn't be placed solely in figures of authority . . ." Dahlia managed to call to him as she slowly put herself into a somewhat upright position, eyes still glazed and crusty from sleep. Sounding quite set on her view, she continued almost bitterly, "Word gets to the station too late, and you guys draw too much attention. Plus, in all honesty, Dad, a lot of the people you work with act a lot mightier than they are." Lou looked over to her intently, ignoring the voice of whoever was on the other end of that receiver. He also paused while tying his shoes. "The only thing you're good for is showing up late to clean up the carcass of the rape or murder victim. The law should be executed by whoever needs justice immediately, without having to go through the paper work and publicity."  
"What the hell has gotten into you?" Lou replied, the lack of seriousness in the tone of his voice shoving Dahlia's words aside. "Ya, sorry Tim, just Dahlia. She looks to have had a rough day. Anyway . . ."

Rolling her eyes, Dahlia stood up and headed to her room to read or work on catching up on her school work. But once again, Lou stopped her as he called out, "Whoah whoah whoah, you're not heading out tonight?"  
"Uh, no." She called back with some attitude, turning to face him while glaring up to the ceiling, "I'm freaking exhausted."  
"Well suck it up. It's not like you have to go out every day and defend an entire city." To that, she rolled her eyes once again, before staring at him impatiently. "Do me a favor and grab some groceries and a few packs of cigarettes from the store, eh? Your step mother's out helping her friend pack for a move."  
"Ya, sure, whatever." She let out an agitated sigh before turning back for the kitchen counter and grabbing several bills of cash before going to the door.

Lou called once again, "What's the problem? Something bad happen at school?"  
"Every day, Dad. I'm just not in a good mood."  
"Well, don't talk back to me like that again, you hear?"  
She sighed again. "Whatever."

The door slammed shut behind her.

* * *

Dahlia finally started to notice it in herself . . . Since she met Crane, so many changes had happened. She felt more confident in herself, and she was more willing to act on her impulses to defend herself and speak up for herself. And she was getting recognition and attention, and she had so far done exactly what Crane said she would - She had turned the tables on her tormentors. However . . . She was also more aggressive. Far more aggressive. One would think that it was a good thing, but to Dahlia, it was so foreign and wrong on herself. The way she had just been so cold to her father several minutes ago ran over and over again in her head, and she kept thinking, _Why was I like that? Why was I acting like such a brat, and why was I so opinionated? Because my father's a policeman, and he just totally disagreed with Crane's philosophy? No . . . My **new** philosophy? I mean, he's still family . . ._

It began to rain lightly once Dahlia had gathered all that she needed from the convenience store. For several minutes she just stood outside, staring up at the black sky, the stars shining particularly bright that night. It was beautiful, and she had never really taken the time to admire it when the Gotham skyline was as gothic and morbid as it was. The sliding doors opened as the jingling of the bell rang, and she stepped out onto the speckled concrete and set her eyes down the street to where she would head. But unfriendly voices behind her first caught her attention. She did not turn to see them.

". . . Ya, Caitlin too. I still can't believe it."  
" Mm-hm. That Scarecrow freak and his mistress Banshee. They gotta be in it together . . ."  
"Hey hey! Look who it is!"

So far, Dahlia identified six people as the footsteps came up behind her. Instinct got her feet moving, keeping her head down and just plowing on ahead in hopes of avoiding confrontation. Halfway down the block, she could still hear their footsteps and murmurs amongst themselves. One block down, and about seven more to go. But halfway down the second, the footsteps suddenly bursted in volume and pace, and she felt two sets of hands grab her from behind and push her forward and into the empty building nearby. It was old and had been devoured by a fire not long ago, its scorched brick walls full of holes and wooden floors creaky and unstable. The high roof looked as if it would fall with even the slightest disturbance. But of course, when there was Dahlia to pick on, no kid would take anything around them into consideration. None of them would mind their surroundings.

One of the stronger males of the cackling group had grabbed Dahlia by the back of her neck as the other had snatched away the grocery bag in her hands. He kept rushing her forward, too fast for even her feet to keep up, and then let go and let her fall into a large pile of debris. "Think you got it pretty well at the university, huh, Vampire? Well, you're in our land now. It's time someone took control over the bums again." Fire rushed through her blood at those words. The others stood nearby.

"I am **not** your dog," She spat out as she turned to face the unfamiliar culprit, in an upright and seated position, "and I never was. And if you don't get it through your thick skull, I just may have to break it into you the hard way, Bozo. And believe me - You'll regret it." Crane always made sure she had fear toxin with her in case of moments like this. Stealthily, her hand slowly and carefully trailed down to her thigh and she brought up her foot onto the debris with her, seemingly in defense. Her hand found the hidden canister in the side of her boot.  
"Oh ho?" The large boy replied, crossing his arms and smirking. "What's a little pipsqueak like you gonna do about it? We both know you can't do anything but run home and cry, Goth Girl."  
"There's your first mistake."

Swiftly Dahlia had pulled the bottle from her boot and stood as quickly as she could, jerking her arm forward ready to spray him. But, quite unexpectedly, he was just as fast, and now holding a look of surprise on his face, he had lashed out and snatched her wrist in an iron grip. Now everyone looked shocked as the two wrestled about, the boy doing what he could to subdue her, and Dahlia doing her best to get the bottle near his face to end his reign of terror. But the sudden crack of the wood under one of her feet made her forget the physical brawl, and quite easily the boy broke through her defenses, snatched the bottle, and shoved her back down to the floor.

"So what the hell is this, huh? Poison or something?" Holding the bottle with two fingers and with his chest puffed out in triumph of the short event, the boy looked over the silver container with squinted eyes of curiosity. Fool. Dahlia shoved herself forward while still on the floor, and, without any such help of martial arts, landed the steel toes of her boot into his crotch. He immediately curled forward and fell onto his side, dropping the toxin. The others all panicked and rushed towards her as she had scrambled to grab the bottle, and grabbed at her arms and legs, trying to keep her down. All she knew at that time was that she **had** to get that toxin away from them. She couldn't endanger the plans and secrets of Crane, and she couldn't risk getting caught.

But it already seemed so. Those four remaining boys and one girl all surrounded her, pinning her down to the floor on her stomach and with her arms behind her back like a criminal. It was over. She knew it. It was already over.

The cracking and splitting of wood heard from above grabbed the bullies' attention, and in seconds each was on their back or belly and shouting and screaming in fear. Dahlia could only stare at the wood grain of the floor before her, and she too screamed as she felt and watched as it gave under some heavy force and fell to the low basement, she herself to go with it. But she didn't - She felt a stiff, curved mound of muscle snap tightly around her waist and catch her. As the floor fell, so did the bottle, which she reacted to immediately and snatched just before it was out of her reach. Then she felt herself get lifted faster and faster upwards, the sound of heavy cloth snapping in the wind, her vision suddenly obscured by blackness. And just as suddenly, she fell onto another sturdy surface, and rolled onto her back with the hard drop, now able to clearly see the stars above and the Gotham city skyline around her.

She was up on the roof. How she got there, she already knew.

Dizzily, Dahlia rushed to her feet and looked up to see him clearly and face to face. The Batman was so much taller and larger than she had earlier observed, most likely able to squash her like a bug, and it was no wonder that all the criminals in Gotham feared him - His sheer magnitude was enough to intimidate anyone. His entire presence was strong and fierce, dark and strangely entrancing. It was difficult for her subconscious to identify if he was even mortal or not. But the main question on her mind was . . . how did he escape the bank vault, and how did he overcome the toxin?

But before any questions were even asked, he was coming forward to once again try to claim her. Eyes locked on him and unable to be deterred, Dahlia scrambled backwards as fast as she could to get away from him. The high altitude was already forgotten however, and once the backs of her calves hit the ledge, she began to tumble backwards.

And he saved her again. The Batman had sprinted forward and had grabbed her shoulders and lifted her back up. But as his grip held to simply prevent her from falling, Dahlia began kicking violently and screamed over and over, "Go away! Leave me alone! Let me go!"  
"Where's Crane?" His piercing vocal talents silenced her. The gruff comment, much like his entire presence, held intimidation and strength. Dahlia figured him to be quite the charismatic man, both inside and outside of this identity.

His hold on her finally began to hurt, and finally she reared back her leg and swung forward as hard as she could. Though her hit meant to land in his face, it came short at his shoulder, and feeling the light impact she also felt him release her. Never would she be trusting of the Batman, so she immediately flipped back up onto her feet and backed away, hands up and feet spread in a defensive position. He seemed laid back, and had then perched up on the rooftop ledge, staring at her with those intense black eyes.

For several minutes, there was just silence. Who knew what the Batman was thinking. Dahlia herself was questioning what this character had in store for her. What he wanted, why he wanted it, and what he thought of the Scarecrow and Banshee. Her impatient, bitter voice broke the silence. "You may as well just not bother with me. I won't tell you a damned thing, Bat!"  
"Why do you help him? What's in it for a kid like you?"  
"Huh?"  
That kind of question was completely unpredicted. In her mind, she imitated his voice in her soprano range, wondering if he'd speak up with a 'Who do you work for'? or 'Take me to your boss!' Or perhaps something as theatrical as 'Come with me if you want to live.' But something that seemed of mere curiosity really stirred up her own.

Her stern reply was genuinely honest, and without any regret.

"All my life, I've been treated like a mangled, dirty stray dog. By kids, adults, teachers, step parents . . . My only wish up until now was to find peace, and to get revenge on those who had wronged me. And I thought I'd never get that, I thought that I'd just continue being picked on and bullied and beat up. No one ever cared because they think it's just a teenage problem, just because I'm what you call a kid . . . But . . . Jonathan Crane understands me. He respects me, and sympathizes with me, and knows exactly what I feel and how to take the pain away. And now I'm being pampered like a house cat."

The Batman was silent, intently watching her, and she intently glaring back at him.

"What he asks me to do in exchange for his time and attention is nothing. It's something a person like you would never understand . . .

". . . So, you going to arrest me now? Take me away to get locked up?" Dahlia held her arms out, one wrist over the other in a daring gesture. But the Batman did not comply. He only pivoted to face the street, then held out his cape and leapt off and away. Dahlia didn't watch him go, but instead dropped her defensive stance and took a quick glance around for the bottle of fear toxin. It was no where in sight. The Batman most likely had taken it.

Softly, she murmured to herself, "I know why, Bat . . ." Lifting her eyes up from the floor, she looked out over Gotham's jagged skyline. "Because I'm just a kid, right? What can I do, right?"

From that night on, she would forever treat the Batman like one of her cruel tormentors. He was an enemy.


	16. In Which He is Entertained

* * *

_Chapter Sixteen: In Which He is Entertained_

* * *

Dahlia must have been tired, he only assumed. She probably wasn't used to so much activity, and with her reclusive nature, he also assumed her to be quite the hermit. That lead to laziness, which led to lack of long-term stamina. He, on the other hand, was quite a disciplined businessman, and seemed always with dormant energy waiting to be unleashed. Everything else would wait, and money, experimentation, and developing his toxin and fear gadgets came first. That was all that mattered. Unfortunately for Dahlia however, Crane was in quite the cheery, confident mood that Friday morning in the psychology classroom. Jobs this week seemed to be piling up at his feet, and that meant lots and lots of cash, lots and lots of opportunities to enhance his weapon development and research. And this new one, only brought up the previous night, was as simple as can be, or so he was told. And he was told by Richard Dodge no less. He was well known among the scum of Gotham to be both a coward and a cheap man, one with no sense of pride - This job had to have been desperate if he was willing to hire outside help. Crane had to be careful in this one. Dodge was about as untrustworthy as he was.

Not surprisingly, Dahlia came in quietly. Her hesitant greeting and shy movements gave away her somber mood. ". . . Jonathan?" She said with about as much might as a mouse, standing far from him and glancing towards the floor every few seconds. He himself, being so preoccupied with the thrill of yet another job, wasn't quite willing to put his attention on whatever had happened to her. Instead, he greeted her quite complimentary, and just hoped that some characteristic within her would absorb some of his mood so he wouldn't have to face the problem directly.  
"Ah, Dahlia, my dear!" Crane approached her, both arms out as he smiled, appearing happy that she was there. "Our luck rises every day. Another of Gotham's rich businessmen has addressed me with a simple task. Our funds will be in excess after this." Once close, one of his hands rested on her shoulder, the other grazing down her cheek before it, too, rested on her opposite shoulder.  
"That's good news . . ." Lowering her head, her blush becoming less alerted by Crane's touch, Dahlia nodded. And after a short pause, she continued somewhat nervously, "But, I need to tell you something, I think you should know . . ."  
"Is it important?" Of course it was. Any fool could tell with her tone of voice. But perhaps she would take the opportunity to back away from this unknown subject, give him more room to explore the new job and let his concerns lie no where else. Crane just didn't care about anything else.  
". . . Well . . ." Well? ". . . I guess not, no. Not really . . . Never mind." There. On to more important matters.

"Right then. Anyway, of this new job . . ." The only thing that was a huge irritant of Crane's was . .

"I'll need you to meet with our client, tonight."  
"Me? By myself?" Dahlia's eyes lifted to meet Crane's, hers a bit startled.  
Nodding, Crane continued as he brushed a strand of hair behind his ear, "Yes. I apologize for that, but I am required to finish up some grading and to meet with the staff a bit later this afternoon. After all, I must maintain a respected name in order to avert suspicion or wariness."  
"Hm, ya . . ." She slowly nodded several times, definitely nervous about this solo meeting. One of her eyebrows suddenly rose, and she asked, "But what if he, like, tries to-"  
"-I'll send my men with you, armed and prepared for the worst. There's no need to fear, Dahlia." He awaited some sort of confirmation before continuing. Dahlia eventually nodded once again, and she too was silent, most likely awaiting the directions and time of the meeting. "Meet Richard Dodge at the docks at midnight. He will be waiting in an Italian suit, most likely sporting some brutes by his side. You'll come by here first, where some of my men will escort you there and keep you safe. They will be yours to command. Understand?"  
Dahlia nodded again. Then she asked curiously, "What's the job?"  
"Are you familiar with Fenton's?" She again nodded. "Mr. Dodge owns the company. Lately, Fenton's competition with Killinger's department stores has been virtually one-sided. They will soon shut down with lack of income. I assume Mr. Dodge wishes us to somehow motivate customers to attend and spend money. Either that or get rid of the competition from Killinger's. He was quite insistent on discussing the matter privately, this meeting."

"I see . . ." Dahlia replied softly, eyes cast down once again. "That's a shame. I really like Killinger's. Cheap and lots of good merchandise . . . No wonder Fenton's is going out of business."  
Crane chuckled lightly. "Yes. Well, business is business."

"Hmm . . ." That following silence indicated the end of the conversation. Crane wandered to his desk to organize a few piles of papers and shove some documents here and there inside the drawers. After that, he found himself idly scanning the many archives and educational posters on the walls of the classroom. It seemed he had a free afternoon then, with all his work done and with classes having ended. About a minute later, Dahlia spoke up again as she slowly wandered towards him, head down and tilted to the side, "Don't you ever get tired of working?" Crane replied with a questioning stare. "I mean, don't you ever just take a break and have fun?"  
Intended both seriously and at the same time with a touch of humor, he replied verbally, "I don't know the meaning of the word."

Crossing her arms, Dahlia smiled. "All I ever see you do is work or read. I mean, don't you go out to a movie, or go sight-seeing or something?"  
"My time is spent working and reading." Crane replied simply, raising his eyebrows as he too smiled. He didn't like where this was going. With an open afternoon and Dahlia with most likely nothing to do . . .  
"Then why don't you come with me and just . . . like, hang out?" She shrugged. "I mean, if you have nothing to do. We could grab a bite to eat, and then do something else if we have time, I guess." And for a few minutes, he was silent, carefully thinking it over. Really, he just wanted to return home, give some attention to his pet crow and the workers in the basement, and read. It was just like Dahlia said - All he really did was work and read. Every weekend he would visit the coffee shop on the corner near Killinger's and read the newspaper, but that was his only luxury. What fun was going to a movie or sight-seeing? How boorish. People-watching on the other hand . . . He wondered if Dahlia was the type to do such a thing as watch and observe others.

But his silence was too long. Dahlia's sudden words broke through his mind's voice, and he quickly looked at her (actually, he had been looking at her, but was so lost in thought that he hadn't been able to process the visual information). "And if you just don't want to, I understand. That's okay. I have some things I could do-"  
"Oh, no, don't be silly, Dahlia." Crane waved his hand at her, interrupting, and said with some sarcasm, "I'm sorry. I was just thinking about how entertaining of company I could possibly be to you."  
"Well . . ." Dahlia murmured the next words quite shyly, ". . . We are friends, right?" Oh well. Some leisurely time wouldn't hurt. Perhaps it would be, dare he think, fun?  
Crane finally let out a short sigh to himself as he glanced towards the door, then to the uncluttered top of his dark oak desk. Then looking back to Dahlia from the corner of his eyes and over his glasses frames, he asked with a smile, "What exactly did you have in mind?"

* * *

"Heh. You always sit here by the window, don't you?" At the corner coffee shop and after ordering a meal, Crane had went and taken his usual seat, which so conveniently was empty on this unscheduled visit. Dahlia soon came to join him in their private corner, sitting adjacent to him.  
"I am but a creature of habit." He smiled. "So, tell me, Dahlia . . ." Reclining back in the retro yellow chair, he crossed one leg over the other and rested his hand on his knee, his free arm coming up and behind the back of the chair in relaxation. His head sat high and proud upon his slender neck. ". . . How have things been going for you? Good, I expect. I've seen a drastic change in the amount of shoves and verbal insults you receive."

"Hm, ya." She gave a half laugh, half scoff, grinning. "Everyone's really careful around me now, and people are actually talking to me and trying to be nice. It's like suddenly they want to be friends because of Natalie and Caitlin, and one girl even offered me an invite to some slumber party today . . . What slime, huh?" They both laughed.  
"The slimiest of Gotham's youth." Then his eyes narrowed, and he smirked as he craned his head forward slightly, "I've also noticed some radical changes in your personality. Good changes, mind you."  
"Are you serious?" Her cheeks filled with redness as her smile widened.  
"Oh, quite. Suddenly you're as easy to read as a book." She could only counter with a murmured, 'Urrghh' and a laugh as she hid her face with her palms. It was cute how easily flattered she was. He continued on after a short pause, "But I see you've also attained a sense of self worth, hm? You no longer need such extreme circumstances to defend yourself. You're much more . . . confident, and self-assured." Seeing that she was now gazing at him with the sweetest smile she could muster, truly appreciating all that he said, he only felt inclined to continue on. "You're a woman now. That shy girl has finally been left behind."  
"Thank you . . . Jonathan."

A young, stout waitress finally came by with both of their beverages, and served up their food. Dahlia received a large plate with half of a roast beef sandwich and a side salad, small chunks of grilled chicken scattered over the spinach leaves. When another plate was placed in front of Crane, to which he replied with a soft 'Thank you,' Dahlia leaned forward slightly and asked, "What's that?"  
Unfolding a napkin and resting it beside his plate, Crane replied, "Spinach and feta cheese croissant."  
"Ooh, looks good. I should try that next time." She carefully picked up her cappuccino and sipped it.

". . . So . . . Um, Jonathan . . ." The stuffed croissant was pretty good, and was definitely filling for such a small dish. Creamy, warm, and full of flavor. Plus, he hardly ever had the luxury of eating out. Crane glanced up after sticking another piece in his mouth with a fork, chewing politely as he awaited Dahlia's words. Her fingers idly ran about the rim of her coffee mug. "You never really went into detail about your childhood . . . About your bullying. And, I don't mean to pry or to be nosy or anything, but . . . well, I was just wondering . . . Well, curious, and . . ."  
Crane swallowed what food was in his mouth, then finished gently, ". . . You were wondering what specific treatments I suffered and how it ended?" After another pause, Dahlia nodded and looked up to him, resting her hands in her lap under the square table. Those horrible times never left his nightmares.

"My own account of such abuse began when I was just a child, and continued on into even my later adolescence, around your age. It never peaked nor did it suddenly vanish - Every day I was getting tripped, shoved, punched, kicked, and I was showered with apple cores, tin cans, and whatever else you could very well throw at some loathsome stray dog. It was very much like what you went through, though I expect you weren't branded with any sort of cruel nickname, and mocked with it whenever you would step out into the world." Crane rested his fork and knife atop his plate, then intertwined his fingers and leaned forward on the table, being drawn into his own story. Dahlia, too, leaned forward as she listened intently. "The vocabulary never changed. It was always 'geek,' or 'freak,' or 'nerd,' among other things . . ."  
". . . They called you Scarecrow?" Dahlia said with only pure sympathy, her eyes glistening under the bright overhead lights.  
"When I was sixteen years old, a group of male students thought it would be most amusing to tie me up in a remote cornfield, prop me up on a tall wooden post, and stuff my clothes with straw. All of this, of course, after beating me into submission to their innocent practical joke and short kidnaping." He paused as he saw Dahlia's mouth slightly open, and heard her make a somewhat muffled gasping sound. "I wasn't discovered until twenty hours later." The nightmarish images flashed in his mind.

"But . . . how did you get revenge? With the toxin?" Dahlia clasped her hands together and rested her lips to her thumbs, her elbows propped up on the table.  
"My fear toxin is a fairly new invention. I only finished developing it the other week, and production had begun about six years ago. My resources were scarce, as you now know. I had to settle for the simplicity of the handgun." He could tell immediately that she was nervous now. With wide eyes, she carefully questioned,  
"You . . . You didn't, like . . . kill anyone . . . ?"  
Crane smiled and gave a short chuckle. "No. There was no need for death. Their fear and panic of the potential doom was quite satisfactory." He lied. She almost seemed to breath a sigh of relief. After a moment of regaining her composure, Dahlia spoke up again, fascinated and curious.

"Tell me more."  
"Hmm." Crane sighed, glancing out the windows of the shop. "I wonder what of . . . Ah." Those blue hues averted back to Dahlia. "Then there was when I was eighteen. I was terribly infatuated with one of the more well-known females around my high school . . ."

* * *

The same waitress came by to take both of the empty coffee mugs and each dirty plate, eyeing Crane with a shy smile as her cheeks became rosy with color. As she headed away, Dahlia leaned forward towards him and gave Crane's arm a light pat as she grinned. Then pointing to the waitress, she said quite playfully, "You see! I told you! Girls drop like flies all around you!"  
About an hour had gone by since Dahlia and Crane arrived at the coffee shop, and that was plenty of time for both of them to become quite involved in their vigorous conversation. He had replied with a bit of added energy, him too leaning forward, "First of all my dear, she looks like she barely got out of puberty." Dahlia snickered as he continued. "Second, I have no interest in the young female persuasion, nor does such immature flattery such as a smile and admiring glance sway me."  
"Oh, psh." She gave him another playful pat on the arm as she leaned back in the chair and crossed one leg over the under. But as her eyes leisurely traveled to the street scene out the window, Crane noticed her eyes slowly widen, and her head cock forward. "Hey!"  
"Hm?" He asked with furrowed eyebrows.  
"That's my Dad!" Dahlia stood and ran to the door, then jogged out to meet a tall, middle-aged man in a police uniform.

Oh my . . . Wouldn't this be interesting? Actually . . . it would. Crane had yet to find out anything about Dahlia's family, and right there was an opportunity to see her father face to face, and see what kind of man he was. The picture was hard to place - A sleezy oaf who barely lifted a finger to work and provide for a daughter? No no. Dahlia was going to Gotham State University after all. Perhaps more insensitive than lazy . . . Crane guessed on a father who was ignorant to his daughter's true nature, and most definitely ignorant to her school life. In no rush, he followed the goth girl outside, and sauntered up to the two exchanging a few words of greeting.

". . . What are you doing around here, Dad?"  
"Off duty. Just decided I'd grab a cup of coffee or something, eh?" His grey eyes looked over to Crane once the younger man had joined the group, and his face remained lit up and curious. "Hello? May I help you, Sir?"  
Dahlia laughed, then placed her hand on Crane's shoulder and introduced him. "Dad, he's with me. This is my psychology professor from school."  
"Oh? Wow, you're a young guy for being a college professor. Must be a smart guy." Lou smiled and held out his hand. "Lou Rhodes."

Crane smirked, calm as always. He took Lou's hand and shook it firmly. "Jonathan Crane. Nice to finally meet you, Mr. Rhodes." Then he clasped his hands behind his back. "Your daughter is quite a fine student, I'm sure you know. Brightest in her class, and one of the few who manages to stay awake during my lectures." From the corner of his eyes, he saw Dahlia blush and lower her head as she smiled.  
"Ha ha, well I'd think so." Lou replied. "She's my kid, after all." As he looked to his daughter with what only Crane could describe as pride, he continued, "Most of her life, she's had that nose stuck in psychology books or her feet busy trying not to trip when doing that Aikido stuff. Didn't pay off though. She's so damned shy, little mouse."  
"Da-ad . . ." Dahlia nagged in embarrassment.

In his mind, Crane laughed. Her father, this Lou, one of the seemingly more sincere cops of Gotham, was oblivious to his daughter's evolution. Completely and totally oblivious. What a fool. His own daughter, and he wasn't truly aware of her behavior or mental workings. He must have either been a fairly busy man or was simply that unobservant. Either way, it was just more convenient on Crane to not have to be so cautious as he expected to be.

"Oh, I need to get going." Lou quickly said as he glanced to his silver watch. Then glancing to Dahlia, he playfully tousled her hair. "I'll be gone all night again, Pumpkin. Take care of yourself, and if you're going to be out at night, take pepper spray just in case that maniac Scarecrow decides to jump on you like an idiot." To that, Crane's devious smile widened. "And don't let this guy turn you into a lab rat or something." He joked, smiling. "Bye. Nice meetin' you, Professor."  
Crane nodded and leaned forward slightly, almost like a polite bow. "Until we meet again, Officer."  
"Bye, Dad."

The two watched his uniform leave down the street, disappearing into the crowd and meshing together with the rest. He was still in thought as he stared down the sidewalk, smiling to himself. Dahlia finally interrupted as she tugged on his sleeve like a child, "Think he suspects anything?"  
"No. He doesn't suspect a thing." Crane reassured as he took Dahlia's opposite shoulder and turned her around, then led her back down the opposite street by his side. Actually, he himself knew that Lou must have suspected isomething/i, not necessarily their criminality. The most obvious thing would be the possibility of Crane and Dahlia in a relationship. Young, charming, and handsome college professor, and a lonely teenage girl with hardly any friends who seems to only excel in the professor's class. The common observer would put two and two together. Hopefully Lou was just as unobservant as he thought.

They still had time to kill, and so Crane quietly submitted to a trip to the cinema with Dahlia. He somehow wasn't surprised that she had suggested a historical picture as opposed to some silly teenage movie with sex and toilet humor. He had fun, actually. A quick check-up back at the laboratory in Crane's basement was made before Dahlia finally said her farewells and left for home to prepare for the night's meeting with Richard Dodge. Meanwhile, Sheryl called out for her master, lonely and hungry. Crane ran his fingers over her feathers as he stood at the bottom of the staircase in the basement. One of the thugs working nearby glanced to him several times before finally having the gut to question, "Hey, boss? Why you keeping that girl around again?"  
There was a pause, each of the half a dozen thugs eventually looking up from his individual work to Crane, curious and waiting. Finally Crane broke the silence with a muffled chuckle. Not so much as one of amusement, but one that was somewhat malevolent.

"You know, I had almost forgotten . . ."


	17. In Which the Meeting is Held

* * *

_Chapter Seventeen: In Which the Meeting is Held_

* * *

"What's up with Banshee?" "I dunno. She's been musical and giddy all night."

Two of Crane's thugs in the front seats of the van whispered to each other as Dahlia sat between two more on one of the steel benches in the back, smiling to herself and singing softly. Her fingers smoothed one clump of her wavy black hair slung over her shoulder over and over again. Her grinning white porcelain mask rested on her lap, watching her. One of the thugs at her side leaned forward and stared at her for a moment before questioning in his deep, gruff voice, "What's gotten into you alluva sudd'n?"  
As if the thug himself were the great source of happiness keeping her so cheerful, Dahlia leaned towards him and the smile stretching across her cheeks. "Nothing, really. I'm just having fun." She reached out and playfully poked his nose. His eyebrows creased upwards as his jaw dropped slightly in confusion.  
"Well, you better pull it together." The driver bellowed, glancing over his shoulder for only a moment. "If you screw up this deal, Crane's gonna take it out on us, Little Miss. Think you can manage it?"

She suddenly leaned forward as she wrapped her fingers around the back of his neck, making sure that he felt her nails on his oily skin. "Call me anything like that again, Buster, and I'll slit your filthy throat." Was he threat she whispered in his ear in a low tone. And after a pause, she reverted back to her cheeriness and sat back up, letting her nails slide away. ". . . That answer your question?"  
"Yes ma'am, it did." He replied with a small smirk.  
Dahlia didn't need advice from some anonymous thug. Crane told her everything she needed to know, and gave her his godly advice. Take everything seriously, never give compassion or trust to business partners, always be alert and wary, be keen on even the most minute of details . . . Everything that would be sure to keep Dahlia safe, and be sure to keep Richard Dodge from screwing them over.

The two vans pulled out on the wide pavement of the docks, surrounded and concealed by giant crates and boxes ready to be shipped out overseas. The stars were once again dull, leaving the darkness of night help hide their operation. As the disguised Banshee stepped out, assisted by one of Crane's men, she immediately noticed the chilly air - It was a good thing she was wrapped up in a long winter skirt and coat. The ripples of the vast waters dozens of feet below bounced the white moonlight off its surface, otherwise only appearing as a sea of black. The entire area seemed to be stripped of color apart from the dullest tones of navy blue and green of the crates - It was gloomy, and dismal, and a somehow familiar, but dangerous looking area. Dahlia only felt secure from Crane's personal promise, and the fact that each of the eight thugs he had sent off with her was armed and ready to defend on command. For several moments, they waited. Three men went out to scout the perimeter, keeping their eyes peeled for lawmen, especially the Batman. If he showed up this time, he was bound to take them all out. Dahlia only had four canisters of fear toxin, and they were to be saved for emergencies. How likely would it be to poison the cunning Batman more than once?

The sound of rubber rolling on concrete echoed off the warehouses in the distance, nearby the enormous crane built into the side of the dock, and each weapon was lifted to point towards it. Concentrating hard on the darkness, she finally made out a limousine driving towards them - Dodge. As it turned, the bright cylindrical lights were cast upon them all. And finally, it rolled to a stop, and the driver turned off the engine. The first to emerge were several of Dodge's own thugs, just as predicted. They, too, held guns, and looked just as mean as Crane's men. Next, from the passenger's seat, a young-looking man in a black suit stepped out. He actually had reminded Dahlia of Crane, in a more feminine and somehow conniving way - Certainly not as handsome at all, with the inflamed red skin over his cheeks and parts of his forehead, and what appeared to be a break out of zits and pimples like an early teenager. The soles of his fine shoes stepped loudly on the ground as he came around to the front of the limo, leisurely walking forward with a stupid smirk laid over his wide lips. "Funny. I thought we were meeting a Jonathan Crane, not a lost little girl." Oh yes. She did _not_ like him.  
"Dr. Crane couldn't be here tonight. He apologizes for that." With a bit of warning in her steady, low, and cold voice, Dahlia's one eye looked out to the young man under a lowered eyelid. "But I warn you, Mr. . . . ?"  
"Reid." His lips held a lopsided smile.  
"Mr. Reid . . . Don't treat me like a child, unless you want to never wake up from sleep again." And for the visual learner, Dahlia pulled her heavy coat back to reveal the bottles of fear toxin on her belt. "Dr. Crane sent me personally, and he wouldn't have done so unless he knew I could handle the job, correct?"  
"Yes, Miss . . .?"  
". . . Banshee, for now." Her eyes narrowed as her mouth held a wide, sarcastic grin.  
"Yes, Miss Banshee. You do have a good point."

Finally the back door opened, and out stepped who must have been Richard Dodge. Compared to this slimy Mr. Reid, Dodge was a handsome man. He looked to be into his late thirties or early forties, with a strong squared jaw and sharp facial features. The light brown tan of his skin and his dark hair made him look Spanish. Like Crane said, he was in an Italian suit, pinstriped, that fit him quite well with his tall frame and big, broad shoulders. His whole appearance reminded Dahlia of an epic hero - He looked like the type of guy who would go by a code of chivalry, someone very suave and charming, and definitely rich. This guy looked like he could take on the Batman and sip champagne at the same time.

"So Dr. Crane isn't here?" Dodge's voice was so much more gentle and kind than Dahlia would have thought. "Pity. I looked forward to meeting this maker of nightmares." As he came around to the front of the limo beside Reid, his eyes squinted as he looked Dahlia up and down like a fine prize to be won at an auction. Slowly his handsome lips curled into a smile. ". . . And I had also hoped for the chance to meet the Banshee as well. Richard Dodge. You are much more beautiful in person." He held out a strong hand. "Banshee seems misleading. I would have loved to title you the Graceful Mummer."  
"Keep your claws to yourself." Banshee replied as she placed a hand on her hip and looked him up and down as if he were an insect lying on its back, all legs up, twitching and squirming.  
"Oh? Pity . . ." Dodge kept smiling though withdrew his hand and slipped it into his pocket. "Do you hold someone dearly in your heart?"  
"What does that have to do with anything?" She could feel her cheeks grow hot under the mask.  
"Nothing, really."  
"Dr. Crane is professional in his work I hope you know."  
"Yes, I do."  
Gesturing a stiff finger towards him, she warned, "Then get the idea out of your head unless you'd rather prefer I do it for you."  
"Yes, Miss Banshee."

What a creep. So far, Dodge only proved himself too 'charming' for his own good, nosy, and if she wasn't so unconfident in herself, it would seem like he was interested in her for more than business. Just the way his eyes were cast upon her, how he was so personal and was smiling, showing off those straight white teeth . . . Crane had warned Dahlia of Dodge, and now those seemingly over exaggerated faults he described were true.

Besides, she _wasn't_ available. Her heart would only fawn over Jonathan Crane, and Jonathan Crane only. Clearing her throat, Banshee crossed her arms and said, "What is this business you wanted to discuss, Mr. Dodge? We haven't got all night."  
"Yes, yes. Business." Dodge then cleared his throat, and stepped forward, which was countered with Dahlia stepping back and towards one of her own thugs. He only smiled and silently chuckled, then continued. "As I'm sure Dr. Crane must have told you, my line of department stores, Fenton's, is going out of business. Killinger's has been stealing many of my customers, and very soon, I will be bankrupt."  
The gears in her head were turning, and she concluded aloud, "You want us to take care of the owner and basically destroy the store?"  
"Precisely." He nodded. "Though, don't waste time trying to find the owner. I don't care much for the man . . . Destroy everything you can, poison the customers, all of those types of charming things. Whatever will drive people away to the safety of my own store. Put them out of commission."  
"And when will this take place?"  
"As soon as possible. Tomorrow afternoon, if Dr. Crane is available. Saturdays are busy days, after all. And during the day, also, to terrify the customers and to avoid the Batman." So far, so good. The terrorizing of innocent people made Dahlia highly uncomfortable, but he mentioned nothing of killing them - She would go as far as needed, so long as no blood was shed. There was only one other item that needed to be discussed before Dahlia could make a good report back to Crane.

"When will we be paid?"  
"After the deed is done." Dodge replied somewhat quickly. "If all goes according to plan, my payment shall be made directly to your headquarters as soon as possible." A pause in dialogue. "Is it a deal, Miss Banshee?" Dodge reluctantly held out his hand once again, still smiling. Banshee looked to Mr. Reid first, seeing that he, too, was smiling arrogantly. Then she glanced back to Dodge, who looked like he was begging her with his brown eyes to accept the deal as if it were a marriage proposal. Hiding her contempt for him, she slowly reached out and shook his hand firmly, trying to appear strong and in control of the situation. Last thing she wanted was to appear too feminine, and lose respect in such an important manner.  
"Farewell, Mr. Dodge. Until next time we meet." Pulling her hand back, Banshee turned and gestured to each of her thugs as they headed back to the vans.  
"It was a pleasure meeting you." Dodge called out. There, with his men, he watched the group drive away and off of the docks.

As they drove, Dahlia had glared at Dodge though the back windows until the large crates finally blocked her view. She then sneered and reclined back in her seat, untying the ribbons to her mask and removing it as she ranted aloud, "I really don't like that guy. I mean, does Jonathan really need all of his money to get by with producing the fear toxin? I would have rather gassed him right then and there. Ugh. Creepy bastard." The four thugs in the van with her chuckled. Assuming too much of their knowledge, she questioned aloud, "Does he have a reputation for being a lecher or pervert or anything?"  
The thug nearest her on her left side replied as he shrugged, "No clue. Crane never fills us in on anything. Jus' tells us to go here and there and act like bodyguards."  
"Ya," The thug on her opposite side joined in, "Crane's hard to read, like wallpaper that guy."  
". . . Ya, what's up with that, huh? Does he think we give a crap er somethin'?"  
"Why do you care? You sound an awful lot like a woman ya big pansy." He glanced to Dahlia and gave a crooked and humorous smile. "No 'fense, Banshee."  
"Shut up, doofus." The other thug gave him a punch in the shoulder. Dahlia laughed. It sounded foolish to her inside her mind, but these cheap thugs, seemingly brainless and all brawn, the scum of Gotham above the corrupt teenagers and policemen, were almost like brothers to her now. Now that they were treating her with some respect, treating her like one of them, she liked them. She honestly felt like she was part of a kinship with Crane and his men - She was accepted. It just added to her warmth and security.

Now, to report back to Crane. Dahlia hoped very much that he would be pleased with her work. She always loved the praise he gave her.


	18. In Which She Confesses

* * *

_Chapter Eighteen: In Which She Confesses_

* * *

". . . You're not . . . mad at me, are you?" Dahlia's fingers nervously picked at the hem of her shirt sleeve as she sat in the back of the speeding van, masked as the Banshee. The ride was bumpy and she found herself sliding a bit to the right and left as the driver swiftly pulled around buildings and zoomed past other cars on the street. The deed had been done, and as they fled, customers at Killinger's were choking and gagging. They had destroyed everything they could have, several thugs pocketing some cash from the registers for themselves, and topped it off by setting fire to several racks of clothes. It was a gala event for Scarecrow and Banshee. No policemen could stop them nor arrive in time, and the Batman was off-duty during daytime hours. Perfect. "No no it's fine." The Scarecrow reassured her, leaning towards a distant Banshee as he reached out and rested his hand on her shoulder. "Regardless, Dodge wouldn't have paid half of his dues at the docks, the greedy dog. We shall receive our payment Monday, as agreed."  
"Well . . . I supp-" A sudden turn caught Banshee off guard, and she slid so far on the smooth bench that she bumped right into Scarecrow's side. "-Oh!" He caught her shoulder to help support her and braced himself.  
"Careful." Looking down at her, he could quite clearly see that she was beyond mere shyness in keeping her head down and refusing to look into his eyes. Crane knew that she was definitely hiding something. Probably this unimportant matter that she had tried to tell him off the previous day. Today, he would have to ask her what it was. Then finally they felt the van slowly come to a halt in a shaded area - An alley near the house.

The driver came around to the back and opened up the doors, and held out a hand to help Banshee out after Scarecrow stepped out on his own. And no more than ten seconds after they had arrived, several figures emerged from around the opposite corner. "Ahh, so you are Dr. Crane!" Banshee immediately stepped behind Scarecrow and peered out past his arm, glaring at the unexpected Richard Dodge. She quietly whispered some inaudible gesture of dislike, to which Scarecrow had to smile about under the mask. Then he greeted his client.  
"Yes, Mr. Dodge. We spoke on the phone." He reached a hand back to Banshee and let his fingers trail across her arm as he walked forward, trying to calm her rage. He shook hands with Dodge. "I assume you've already gotten word of the job?"  
"Yes, yes! And I am very pleased, Doctor!" Dodge did seem quite cheery. In appreciation, his free hand had come to momentarily rest on Scarecrow's, shaking his hand several more times before letting go. "Killinger's will surely be out of commission for quite some time." Noticeably however, he then stepped off to the side and gazed upon Banshee, who by now had her arms crossed and was looking away in contempt. "Your female partner there is a great asset, Dr. Crane." Scarecrow, being more keen on human behavior than Dahlia, now understood how piggish Dodge was regarding the opposite sex. He definitely had a thing for her, someway, somehow - Lecher. It disgusted him. Well, he wouldn't get her. "I wonder . . ."

". . . I've trained her well, don't you agree?" Beneath the burlap sack, Crane was smiling deviously. "To be strong, assertive . . . She's a fine partner." Turning, Scarecrow sauntered back towards Banshee as he spoke. "But now, Mr. Dodge . . ." Once by her side, he turned to face Dodge once again, and rested his arm over her shoulders. He felt her muscles tighten, and felt her eyes watching him, but only kept his own on Dodge. ". . . We must be off. There are other matters of business to attend to."  
Just as he predicted, Dodge's subtle reaction mirrored that of a jealous high school teenager, boiling with rage inside. The muscles in his tan face tightened, forcing a smile as his eyes narrowed. "Yes. I won't take anymore of your time, Dr. Crane. I will pay you Monday, precisely at five o'clock in the afternoon." Once again, those lustful eyes trailed back to Banshee. Scarecrow felt her shift under his arm, then slip away. He heard the heels of her boots clack away on the concrete as she headed away towards the house.

Grasping the rope tied around the mask's neck, Crane pulled it up and off of his head. Then after brushing his hair back in place neatly and taking his glasses from his jacket pocket, he finished softly as the other thugs too began to head away, "Until then, Mr. Dodge." He took one last look at Dodge as he slipped the square frames onto his face, then turned and followed the group.

Once inside, the thugs went directly to the basement to get back to work as they were told. Crane entered last and locked the door behind him, seeing that Dahlia's porcelain mask had been placed on the side table near the door. He placed the scarecrow mask beside it, then headed out towards the living room to see that the girl had made herself at home, stretched out on her back on one of the sofas. "I hate that guy, I really do. Does he just have a knack for being creepy, or what?"  
Taking a seat at her side in the manner that one would for a sick hospital patient, Crane ignored her aloud thinking and cut right to his curiosity's demanding interrogation. "Dahlia." He said first, to get her attention. By now, she must have known that tone of voice well - Her alert black eyes stared at him. His voice though, changed to a softer, more quiet level, as to not rouse any immense nervousness. "You've had something on your mind since the other day." Her eyes glanced away. "I believe now is an opportune time to tell me."  
"Um . . . W-Well, I . . ." Turning her head away, she sighed. "I . . . I . . ."

Without even having the slightest clue as to what the issue may have been, Crane was already concerned. He leaned forward closer to her, his arm stretching out to rest on the back of the cough above her, closing her into an area where she couldn't avoid him. Hovering over her, he gently urged, "You can tell me anything, Dahlia. You should know that."  
But the words she would soon utter were anything but what he expected. As he felt her press herself back against the sofa, saw her lips begin to tremble as her eyes shone, she finally confessed in a wavering, fearful voice, "I m-m-met the Batman the other night, face to face." It didn't quite sink in at first however. Crane stayed over her, staring at her and dazing off into the growing worry of his mental thoughts. The Batman. He and Dahlia met, but what did that mean? He obviously found a cunning way to escape the bank vault, but what did he want with Dahlia now? What did he do to her? Did he knew who she really was now? Did he know who the Scarecrow really was? What was he planning next? But most importantly . . . What did she tell him?

And he wasn't hesitant to ask. Becoming conscious once again, his eyes intensified as they locked on to her. It was one of the rare moments when he seemed to take things in a completely serious, stern manner with her. "What did you tell him?"  
She must have felt like a prisoner, like an innocent person being tried for a crime they didn't commit. "Nothing! I didn't tell him anything at all, Jonathan!" The tears began to flow as Dahlia shook, becoming emotional in her defense. "He rescued me from kids at school who were going to beat me up, a-and h-he tried to get me to tell him about you and the heist, but I-I didn't tell him a damned thing! Not a thing, Jonathan, nothing!"  
The relief of her honest confession outweighed his guilt. Crane rested his hands at the sides of her arms, gently massaging them as he hushed her like one would a crying infant through her continuous rambling. Finally she became silent with her words, only quietly weeping as he continued to softly hush her. "Shhhh, sh sh sh . . . It's alright, it's alright. You've done nothing wrong."

"I'm sorry . . . I didn't mean to keep it a secret . . ." Dahlia propped herself up on one arm, closing her eyes, Crane guessed so that she felt more secure without having to look at him. ". . . I just didn't know how you'd react, and I was scared . . ." He continued to hush her, as he gently helped her to sit upright.  
"It's alright, Dahlia, calm down." Looping his arms under hers, he pulled her close to his body and embraced her, rubbing her back. He felt her muscles eventually cease their jerking from her sobs, and soon after, she fell completely silent, tightly hugging him back, her arms wrapped around his neck. He felt her quick breath slowly fade down to a steady rate.

It seemed that _someone_ in the morbid city of Gotham was interested in her welfare. The Batman was quite aware of their situation - This noble knight would never succumb to using an innocent girl to get to a real criminal, that Crane was sure of. He must have been out to rescue Dahlia from the spider web that Crane had woven around her, for whatever reason. She was just one girl, after all. And what, he didn't have enough problems to attend to within the corrupt city?

No university bullies, nor Richard Dodge, nor the Batman would ever get their hands on her and rip her from his web. None of them, never. The Batman had to be destroyed, as soon as possible.


	19. In Which He is All She Has

* * *

_Chapter Nineteen: In Which He is All She Has_

* * *

_He was so warm and gentle. I've never been hugged like that before, at least outside the family . . . It's amazing that Jonathan was bullied. I can't believe he's still single . . ._

Dahlia softly smiled to herself as she slowly tromped up the stairs of her apartment building, a passive sort of giddiness in her step. Every time she left Crane's house, every time she would walk home after spending time with him, she felt her cheeks burn hot with affection, her heart beat fast, and her mood wiped free of gloom and misery. It was hard for her to face the fact that she had feared him when he began to interrogate her - Did he really not trust her? And did she really not trust him? Crane wouldn't hurt her, she believed. He saved his wrath for villains, like the Batman, or the corrupt policemen and citizens of Gotham. There was no way in hell that he would lift a finger to harm her. Never.

"Dahlia?" As the goth girl looked up from her blank, dreamy gaze at the floor she stepped on, she spotted Linda standing outside the apartment door, apparently having just returned from some outside errand. But unlike other times when she was looked upon with scorn and irritation, Dahlia looked at her with curiosity and suspicion. Linda didn't look quite as drunk or snobbish as usual. Her eyes were wide, and she hurriedly approached Dahlia and grabbed onto her arm. "Lou, she's home!"  
"Ouch! Hey, stop it!" Dahlia tried to pull free from Linda's fake nails, but the aging women continued to drag her inside. And once shoved into the kitchen, the door was shut behind her and locked. "Dad? What's going on?" She felt her heart begin to speed up again.

"Dahlia?" Lou emerged from her bedroom . . . What had he been doing in there? Whereas Linda appeared looking high and mighty, Lou seemed to be hiding something in a similar manner to Dahlia's usual shyness. With his head down, stepping forward slowly, he began uneasily, "Uhhh, Dahlia . . . Listen, we need to have a serious chat."  
"Hm?" Did he find out about her underground affiliation, or . . . ? Well, he was a cop, after all!  
"What do you and Crane do all day and night? You've been spending an awful lot of time with him, your own college professor . . . Did you need extra tutoring?"

His last comment calmed then acceleration of Dahlia's pulse - He has just indirectly saved the girl a lot of explanations and lies. "Oh . . . ya. Ya, just tutoring, Dad. Nothing else."  
"Don't lie you little tramp!" Dahlia's head snapped back to see Linda lurking towards her like a hawk. "You were out past midnight several times, and what the hell do you think you're doing with his picture dead smack in the middle of your wall?"  
"Dahlia, don't lie to me." Lou began in, urged by the over reacting Linda. Dahlia snapped her head back forward to look at him, looking up to her tall father with scared eyes. From his pocket he took out the photograph Dahlia had taken of Crane several weeks before when she had first begun speaking with him. An unplanned reaction, her cheeks turned pink, which apparently gave Lou the wrong idea. "Dahlia, how could you? He's an adult, and you're still so young! You could be expelled for this!"  
"**What**!" Not it was her turn to get angry. "Dad, do you think . . . Do you think that Jonathan and I . . . !"  
"Jonathan?" Lou barked back, eyebrows raised high on his wrinkled forehead. She felt stupid for not watching her mouth. "**Jonathan**?"  
"I meant Professor Crane . . ."  
"You're not to see him ever again. I'm pulling you out of his class and you're new curfew is nine."  
"What! No!" In frustration, Dahlia stomped her foot onto the tile floor and glared up at him, her tongue sharp and consonants expressed hard with anger. "That's unfair! How the hell would you think that we-"  
"Gossip from your classmates goes around fast, Dahlia. Don't bother lying to me, because I have enough evidence and I know the truth. Don't you talk back to me young lady."

"I knew it. I knew from day one that you were hanging off of that boy." Lighting up a cigarette, Linda leaned over one of the nearby counters and rolled her eyes. "What did I tell you, Lou." Neither of them gave her the chance to explain. Why wouldn't Lou believe her? Because Linda was toying around with his head, of course. Sure, the circumstances seemed so obvious, but . . . no way, never would Dahlia do something like . . .

"Dahlia, just tell me the truth." Just about ready to weep for the second time that night, Dahlia felt her father's hands come to rest on her shoulders. He was shaking. She could tell he was trying to remain calm. "I want to hear the truth from your mouth. Please, just be honest with him." But she couldn't think, everything was whirling around her head before giving her time to sort out her thoughts. Thus, her explanation managed to make the situation far worse.  
". . . I think I really love him, Dad, but . . ." She trailed off, interrupted by her father's sudden tightened grip on her shoulders, his head lowered as he muttered statements of disbelief.  
"I can't believe this . . . Why is this happening, where did I go wrong . . . I can't believe . . ."  
Trying to get him to listen, Dahlia spoke louder, ". . . but . . . **but**, I never slept with him . . . Dad, I **never** slept with him!" Her words fell upon def ears.

Linda came up from behind and pulled her away from Lou, who seemed to be having a breakdown of his own. With a tight grip on her wrist, she said with complete malice, "I figured yor father of all people would have raised you to be better than this, you little whore. You're never seeing that creep again."  
"Don't call him a creep." Dahlia's eyes shot up to Linda's with fire, like a predator stalking a wounded gazelle.  
"I'll call him whatever I want, Honey. Now get to your room to let us sort out your punishment, and don't come out until I-"  
"Screw you!" Finally finding her spine, Dahlia jerked free from Linda's grip and gave a hard shove. "I told you I never slept with him and it's true!" Trying to gauge Linda's trust-o-meter, Dahlia observed the woman's reactions to her word. She didn't say anything, probably very surprised from the sudden push - Linda made it a priority to never believe or listen to Dahlia, so she was a lost cause. But hopefully her father, whom she was stuck with all her life, had some compassion in him. Dahlia looked at him with a look begging for nothing but pity and understanding. "Don't you believe me?"  
Lou went and sat on the couch, still upset, holding his face in his hands, still muttering to himself. She glanced back to Linda. Back to Lou. To Linda.

A loud, aggravated moan forced its way out of Dahlia's throat, merging into a cry whose words were barely understandable, "I never had sex with him damn it!" She couldn't bear this place anymore. Home was where the heart was - That saying was printed somewhere in the kitchen or living room. One of those typical cottage door mats or something. However many times she heard it, it was completely true. Why stay someplace where she was unwanted, untrusted, and treated with the same disrespect as by her peers? This wasn't home anymore. Escaping Linda's stretched out claws, crying for her to return, Dahlia ran down the hallway with nothing but the clothes on her back, tears finally rolling past her cheeks as she made her way out of that building as if it were burning to the ground. She never looked back and never acknowledged those shouts for her to return. She only kept running, running, until she found herself stomping up the porch steps to that familiar neo-gothic house on the side street, the golden lights inside all too desirable, inviting her up.

As soon as that door opened, Dahlia flung herself into his arms, holding on to him as if the slightest breeze would whisk him away. She wanted nothing but to hang on to him forever and ever, nothing but to stay with him in his castle and be valued and treated like she was the queen of everything. That stray dog would never come back, she wished and wished - Only that pampered house cat would remain. Just that pampered house cat cherishing and worshipping its master.


	20. In Which Suspense Rises

* * *

_Chapter Twenty: In Which Suspense Rises_

* * *

"No no no, don't beat yourself senseless, Dahlia," Crane said as he hung up his jacket in the walk-in closet, undoing his tie with one hand. "Let the events pass for now. Give yourself time to think about what happened. Often times the worst reactions emerge during this early stage, so you must skip by that to rational conclusions." It wasn't a lie that he did pity her. After all, one's home was thought of as a safe house - Psychologically, it was the only place where nothing could go wrong and where the rest of the world was unwelcome. Lou Rhodes and Linda Barker had quite ruined that for Dahlia, and it was no surprise that she fled and came to the only place she knew she could find some amount of safety. He _did_ pity her . . . but the satisfactory thought of her now thinking his own home was her new safe house was far more exciting. Crane had her all to himself now. It seemed nothing stood in his way.  
The bedroom was quite dimly illuminated, mainly from the light of the closet, and from there Crane could make out Dahlia's curled position on his bed, a tissue in hand to wipe away her tears. She took in a deep breath and exhaled quietly, then asked with defeat, "Are you going to make me go back?"  
It felt good to be out of that suit again. Now in a comfortable silk knit tank top and lounge pants, all black, Crane exited the closet and flicked the light switch off, then wandered towards the bed. He took a seat beside Dahlia before he spoke, straight faced. "Not today, nor the next few days . . ." He paused a moment to see Dahlia's reaction, which was nothing past a disappointed sigh. ". . . Nor will I feed you some rubbish, such as 'You need to return home.' You're an adult, and I have no right to make you do anything."  
"You'll let me stay?" She slid her chin from her chest to look up towards him.  
Smiling, Crane leaned forward slightly and gently caressed her cheek, to which she responded with closing her eyes comfortably. "Of course, Dahlia." Lou probably would have slugged Crane in the cheek if he saw that move, then repeatedly bludgeon him over the head with a rubber mallet. It was ironic. 

"Should you need anything, just ask. Try to sleep." Crane rose and headed for the double doors to the living room, turning and facing her with both hands rested on each doorknob. Lying where the man's silhouette was cast, Dahlia pulled the blanket up over her body and nodded, then weakly replied,  
"Okay . . . Thank you, Jonathan."  
Crane nodded before pulling the doors quietly shut.

The time was drawing ever so near to finally transform her from partner to lab rat. There had been quite enough hesitation, both from a busy schedule and his recent attachment to the sincere girl. Nothing of what one would expect between two humans, male and female - More like an owner to his pet, one-sided obsessive love and companionship, good for a fun day or a break from work, but nothing more to him. Pity he'd have to ruin her, but so far, his victims didn't stick around long enough for him to study and observe, to improve upon. The day after tomorrow was a Monday, back to the old grind. This would have to be done fast. After dealing with those obnoxious young adults, those sniveling professors and arrogant administrators, he made mental note to return home (he only assumed that Dahlia would not want to return to the University in this family crisis) and just go with it. Perhaps sedate her, then inject the toxin. If need be, wrestle her to the ground like he did when they first paired up. Whatever it took.

. . . But Crane was far too tired to be planning much out now. Dragging his feet on the carpet, he entered the study through the open doorway from the living room, shutting off the house lights as he went along. Once laying his sore eyes on the couch, he approached and took a seat in the same careful, gentlemanly way as usual, as if he were in the presence of company. Then pivoted on his hind quarters, drawings his legs up onto the pillows, and stretched out over the soft, cool material. He pulled a thick blanket over his slim frame, and promptly fell into a peaceful slumber.

* * *

A sharp, faint noise stirred Crane from his sleep, eyes lolling around until his blurry vision aimed out through the open doorway. He exhaled loudly, stretching his back and legs out as he did so. Glancing to the grandfather clock leaning against the opposite wall, he made out the face which read an early six o'clock. Then he glanced back to the doorway, vision clearing, as he awaited his disturber's voice once again to break the silence. For several seconds it didn't rise, so he stretched once more before turning his head to the side towards the couch and closing his eyes. It was too early to be paranoid, and he was too tired to care. 

But just when he was about to slip back into his dreams, the noise roused again. It was Dahlia's soft voice, coming from the far end of the living room.

". . . is a thing I can rely on, Dad. And I can't believe you don't have any for me. What in our history makes you think I would do something like that?"

At first, Crane nearly had a heart attack thinking that Lou was in his home uninvited - That was the perfect way for any fool to get gassed. Flipping the blanket up and off of himself, he pivoted up into a seated position with his bare feet on the carpet, then marched right out to see what exactly was going on. Yes, it was Dahlia, but Lou wasn't there with her. She was facing the wall phone with the receiver to her ear hidden behind her messy hair, shoulder rested against the open arch that lead to the kitchen. Her head was kept low, shoulders sagging sadly. He continued to listen.

". . . You of all people shouldn't be asking me why I'm here. Where else did you expect me to go? . . . No! Dad, I didn't do anything and I haven't done anything! I just needed a place to stay, to be away from . . . Yes, I know . . ."

Crane continued to head for her, eyes narrowed suspiciously as he tried to make sense of the conversation and what Lou must have been saying.

". . . Jonathan- Ya, that's damn right, _Jonathan_. Jonathan _respects_ me, Dad. He treats me like an adult, he's always around for me to talk to, and he cares about me. He takes care of me!"

The sudden shout from the other end of the phone were loud enough for Crane to barely make out. Dahlia pulled the receiver from her ear and let it slip to rest just below her collar bone, looking away and lightly sobbing, not wanting to listen to his anger. But she quickly took several breaths, avoiding sounding so broken up to her father no doubt. Lifting it back to her ear, she interrupted him as she raised her voice slightly, still keeping it quiet (she must have figured Crane was still asleep), "I'm not going home, if that's what you think all of your shouting is going to accomplish. I'm nineteen years old, and I'm old enough to get my own place and live on my own!" But such intense emotions caused her to accidently half scream, half cry, "**I'm old enough to live on my own**!"

It had gone on far enough. Crane quickly reached over her shoulder and snatched the phone away, balancing the broken down Dahlia with one hand around her upper arm as she tried to turn away, ready to drop on her knees in hysterics. He kept her near him however, holding her up against her will, as he lifted the receiver to his head, mounted proudly atop his upright neck. Her felt her arms wrap around his waist and felt her bury her face into his chest, forcing herself to stand with him. In a calm voice, he interrupted whatever it was that Lou may have been spurting, "Excuse me, sir. Mr. Lou Rhodes, I believe? Yes, this is Jonathan Crane."

Lou's voice suddenly shot back in a tone completely opposite to Crane's professional one, "Jonathan, Johnny, Jon-Jon, whatever. Listen to me you pervert. You lay one hand on my daughter and I'll turn you into mulch."  
Had they been speaking in person, Crane would have most loved to have tested his fear toxin on Lou right then and there. He was annoying enough as it was, and proved himself to be quite the nuisance, but once again, it was too early to be dealing with this. His impatience was hidden as he replied calmly, "Sir, I assure you, what your daughter has been trying to tell you is not false - Our relationship is strictly professional, and I have done nothing but provide her with the friendliness her peers at the university lack. This young woman approached me last night wanting nothing more than the comfort and assurance you seem to have deprived her of. Nothing more."

Silence. A soon broken silence, that gave the illusion of Lou actually paying attention to what it was that Crane and Dahlia were trying to say. Why was it so much easier to blame than believe? "Stop trying to feed me your bullshit, Crane! I want my daughter marched back home right now, and I never want you to see or so much as think about her again! Do you get me? Because if you ever-"  
It certainly _had_ gone on far enough. Time to end this.  
"-It suddenly becomes so much clearer as to why Dahlia left you, Mr. Rhodes - No more than a month, and I've already surpassed the many years you've taken to disguise yourself as a loving father." A short pause. "Good day to you, Sir." He hung up.

Crane looked down to Dahlia, seeing her yet still cling to his waist like a frightened child would to their parent. Her sobs became less and less intense and emotional it seemed - Whether she was hiding the pain or was doing better at getting over her difficult times was undetermined by Crane. Probably the latter. Somehow . . . he felt disinclined to continue on with the plans he had made. Compassion, perhaps a little - After all, he had gone through many of the things she had when he was younger. Otherwise, he now felt that experimenting on her so soon would be a waste of time. Already it seemed she was living in a nightmare, the only apparent good thing at the time being her closeness to him. If he wanted to test the toxin, he'd rather have some fun and do it on a rat who lived a seemingly perfect, happy life, just to see what they truly feared, what could be a potential phobia, what was hidden beneath the stable demeanor. The time had once again grown inopportune. Oh well.

Until another day.

* * *

Monday morning, and Dahlia decided to stay at the house and help Crane's thugs out in the basement and with ordering supplies and other such needed tasks. Crane had a job to attend to, so left right on time with briefcase in hand. Nothing had changed of course - Why would it since last Friday? The kids were still screaming and acting like complete idiots, fellow professors stuck their noses up at Crane's presence, mumbling amongst themselves of one thing or another. He paid no attention, and just headed to his classroom to set up for the day's lesson. 

It was quick and mild, but a chill had _definitly_ run up Crane's spine. Through the window of the psychology classroom one could see the professor's desk. This morning, there was a stranger sitting there, a man in a suit shuffling through papers and organizing the desk drawers - It had been extreme fortune for Crane to have gathered all his chemicals and documents beforehand. The first thing that popped up into his head was that this man was a police officer under cover, either that or one of Richard Dodge's thugs under cover - He idid/i say that he would pay up today.

" 'Scuse me, Professor." Crane looked to his side, seeing the principal of the school approaching. His deep eye sockets made him look like quite the mean one, but the glare in those dark brown hues were enough to rouse curiosity. "You and I need to talk."  
"Yes, Sir." Crane replied, only half hearing him. His eyes narrowed as he glanced to the door, keeping a light and calm mood about himself as he questioned aloud, "I assume this is about this unknown person milling about my-"  
"-You're fired."

The blue of Crane's eyes seemed to ice up as he gazed back at the principal, silent and eyes fully open with surprise. Perhaps his ears were fooling him. After all, the previous day had been quite stressful with nurturing Dahlia back to be her stronger self and with managing sending out orders for more chemicals and supplies. He'd better clarify. "Um . . ." He began, almost sarcastically, "Excuse me, but I must not have heard right . . ."  
"No, you heard just fine. You're ifired/i, for breaking rule thirteen of the handbook. Your things have been delivered to your home, now I'll ask you to please leave campus and not return."  
". . . No, Sir, you must be mistaken." Rule thirteen, what? Did this churl honestly expect Crane to bother memorizing some stupid set of childish rules? "What could I have possibly-"  
The principal, highly disgusted with Crane, lifted his palm and interrupted, "If you have any questions, consult Lou Rhodes, Dahlia Rhodes' father, because I'd rather not discuss the matter."

That chill suddenly came back with an extra kick.

"For the final time, leave, Crane, or else I'll send for someone to escort you."


	21. In Which They Raid

* * *

_Chapter Twenty-One: In Which They Raid_

* * *

It seemed like it had been many, many years since Dahlia had really taken the time to stop and observe her own home. Dusty smelling, and a mild fragrance of cleaning supplies, but only in the kitchen. Dark and often times humid, shadowy and with little vibrant color. Her bedroom always smelt like citrus or peppermint, from the wax candles high up on her dresser, and she made it a habit to clean up now and then so the floor was always spotless. She felt like a runaway returning home after being off on an adventure most of her life, revisiting the one place where one would think that they would be accepted. Of course, that wasn't the case. She knew very well that Lou wasn't home, probably out filing a missing report for her, and Linda was probably out drinking and gambling with her fellow fools. It was an opportune time to return to gather some belongings - Dahlia didn't plan on coming back anytime soon.

The black gym bag was stuffed full of her favorite books, some clothes, and all of her wall's photographs and her camera. They were packed in tightly, and the strap felt as though it would snap her shoulder bone, it was so heavy. As she trudged back to Crane's house that morning, she stared down at the single picture she had taken of Crane, rubbing its dented and worn out edges. Lou's oily fingerprints were all over the glossy print from the night before, so she rubbed them away with the material of her skirt. She only succeeded in shifting the tiny swirls and spirals into a one-directed smudge only caught by direct light. She'd have to take another one to replace this one.

_What was it going to be like now?_ she wondered. Surely Crane wouldn't let her reside at his home for very long. He didn't have time to babysit her all the time, and she didn't have the strength to work as hard and as many nights in a row as he did. Get a job, find someone to share an apartment with, find a way to get a car and a job, make sure her father never found out where she was . . . What was school going to be like? Pah, that pondering was short lived - There wouldn't be any more classes for her. She had a good hunch she was already expelled. After all, her father did tend to act pretty irrationally when it came to these minor misunderstandings. A simple physical would prove that Crane hadn't put a finger on her, and vice versa. Would he listen to reason? Of course not. He was a flatfoot, one of the fuzz. It was about time Dahlia saw with unclouded eyes to what kind of police officer he was. The only thing worse than a corrupt Gotham policeman was an _emotional_ Gotham policeman.

. . . Wait a minute, back up. If she was, indeed, expelled . . . what stopped the madness from spreading to Crane?

Upon opening the door to the house, Dahlia quickly jogged in and looked for him. He wasn't in the living room or the study, nor was he in what area of the kitchen and hallway she could see. First closing the front door, she dropped the heavy gym bag on the floor and went down the short hall to the master bedroom. Her quick heart beat settled as her relieved eyes found him stretched out on the bed, one hand resting behind his head, the other scratching at his exposed collar bone under his shirt. His jacket and tie were sloppily hung over the back of a nearby chair. It looked completely unlike him. "Jonathan?" Yes, he got the pink slip, just as she expected.  
"Dahlia, come here." It almost startled her, how not even two seconds after she entered, he had quickly pushed himself into an upright position and was looking at her directly, no humor left in his straight face. He perched himself off the side of the bed, holding out his hands for her to come. Nervous as usual, feeling as though she was about to get a spanking like a child, Dahlia slowly approached him. He was patient, only continued to hold out his still, steady hands, as her shaking ones reached out and very gently slipped into his fingers. Once close enough, Crane held her hands and pulled her close, looking up at her, holding her hands near his chest in a pleading manner. He softly massaged them, apparently trying to calm her nerves - He was good at that.

Crane spoke very lightly, different from how she figured he would have sounded. He touched on each word carefully, almost whispering, and was very delicate and flowing in his dialogue. "Dahlia, you did handle the meeting at the docks very well, and don't think otherwise. I need you to do this again. Another meeting. If all goes according to plan, Mr. Dodge will simply stop by, hand over his money, and leave. If you handle this just like you did the docks, everything will be fine, and it will be smooth sailing. Tonight, at six o'clock, and not one minute later."  
What he told her was completely different from what she had expected - A slap on the wrist, a scolding, and a request for her to leave his abode. That's what she figured. But no, he was just as compassionate as ever. It made her feel guilty. But to help relieve this guilt, she swore to do whatever it was that he asked of her, without question. She had to show him loyalty and devotion. ". . . Is Dodge all that reliable to show up?"

The following pause was awkwardly long. And after about twelve or thirteen fully excruciating seconds, Crane finally smiled. Standing up, he yet still held onto Dahlia's hands as he assumed an upright position, standing uncomfortably close to her, hovering about eight inches taller. "I'm glad you realize that. Should Dodge not show up at six o'clock or sooner, I'll have you and some men travel to his home and have a merry little raid. Take all you want, use the toxin, and leave no one sane."  
"Hm hm." Dahlia giggled with shut lips, finally smiling. "Sure. But, I have a question."  
"Yes, my dear?" Crane replied, lifting his chin slightly.  
"Where will _you_ be during this meeting?"

"Ah . . . hm." Crane smiled again. "I have a few items of business that need attention, so I'll be away the rest of the afternoon and most of tonight."  
"This afternoon?" Dahlia quirked an eyebrow. Crane turned and let her hands slip from his as he headed back down the hall, Dahlia following closely as he answered.  
"The sooner I get started, the sooner I'll be finished. And I did hope to get these tasks done within one day."  
"What tasks?"  
"Nothing of importance, my dear."

At first Dahlia feared he was hiding some sort of animosity towards the school or her father, a quite reasonable fear at that. But she noticed that he had instead picked up the leather briefcase he used for work at the university, as opposed to the silver one she often found him with while they were masquerading as the Scarecrow and Banshee. It didn't take much thought for her suspicion to wither, so like the typical Fifties house wife, she saw him to the door and waved a farewell while he headed down that stone path to the street.

So, she was left to entertain herself in the Crane household. Dahlia didn't realize it yet, but evidently some workers had already arrived and were busy sending off shipments of orders and fear toxin in the basement and working with the chemicals to produce the poison. For about an hour or two, her boredom lugged her downstairs to assist in whatever way she could. It was actually quite a fascinating, educational process. Her newfound brothers seemed to accept her as well, joking with her and conversing as they went about their business. It was fun, enlightening. So after a while, she returned upstairs and milled about with nothing else to do. Sheryl cawed for attention, so for what seemed like another full hour, Dahlia stood by her perch, pampering her. A quick kitchen raid for lunch (Crane had such fine tastes in food for a guy with his salary), then Dahlia explored the study, scrolling across the book titles Crane kept on his shelves - The room wasn't particularly large, but just the sheer magnitude of the bookshelves made her feel as though she were in a library. And most all of them were of psychology topics of course. For as long as her boredom could stand it, she studied into emotions and subjects such as hatred, dementia, jealousy, inherited human folly, and love, ranging from crushes to a stalking obsession.

The clock sounded at six o'clock, summoning the evening, lifting her sagging eyes from the text. Time flew fast, and already, Dahlia realized that Richard Dodge had not appeared as Crane had said. A sort of miniature panic attack caused her muscles to have a sudden spasm, a quick exhaling of air through her nostrils forced out - Her mentor's instructions were clear and so simple that even an ape could follow them. But something in her gut told her that the future was going to look awfully messy. She didn't want to go through with this, but the thought of disappointing Crane scared her more.

Masked, gowned, and ready to go, Dahlia swung open the basement door and flicked the lights off and on to grab the thugs attention. Once each of their rusted eyes fell onto hers, she announced, somewhat softly as if fearing her lunch would fly out her throat, "Time to find Dodge, guys."

* * *

It was a pity, really, that so many of the few millionaire aristocrats of Gotham were such scum. This seemed like the eighteenth mansion that they had visited, and by this one, they all looked the same. Enormous, lavish, and deserted, other than the awaiting owner and his hired thugs inside. Something about this particular trip yet still bugged Dahlia however. Call it a hunch, but this Richard Dodge seemed a lot more dangerous than the average man - And ironically enough, he was the most charismatic, handsome, and seemingly sane of the others they dealt with. 

Three were the amount of vans they took this time. They screeched to a halt right outside the many steps of the high and wide stoop, and thugs emerged like clowns from a clown car. One helped Dahlia step out carefully, cradling a rather large looking firearm in the hook of his arm as he walked her towards the others. "Okay," She began after taking a deep inhale for preparation, "let's go."

The erupting piercing sounds were so loud and sudden it gave Dahlia's heart a good run, panic stricken in her eyes as she witnessed bursts of white crack at the cement in front of her, tiny fragments of debris flung upwards in a chalky mist. All around her she saw her men drop to their knees and duck their heads, pointing their guns upwards or towards the door as they barked out commands to one another. The nearest grabbed her arm and pulled her down with him, then used his own body as a shield as he hovered closely over her. His armed hand jerked in the direction of his upward glaring eyes, "Watch out!" And the gun fired off speedy, rapid bullets, the gunfire fanned across the open window high above and unluckily missed their attacker who had ducked back inside.

"Damn it!" Dahlia couldn't help but scream aloud. "I **knew** something was wrong!" While busy contemplating if she'd die this night or not, the human bodyguard grabbed her again and carried her with him back to the vans for cover, each of the thugs spreading out around the perimeter and proceeding to smash windows to get inside. Constant gunfire shot off, barely missing each man, and they too shot back whenever the origins of the shots were found. Glass shattered, men shouted, and there wasn't a moment of silence. No more than twenty seconds after they had arrived, they were in a domestic war.  
"Stay here!" He clamored as he ran out from behind cover. Dahlia didn't see where he went, too terror-stricken to budge from the van - Her back and neck were practically glued to the side of the safe vehicle, each muscle in her body taut and strained. From the corners of her eyes, she witnessed their bodies shift and jerk about, avoiding the gun fire as best they could, and firing back up at the high window. With concentration, she heard rhythmic thumps and the smashing of wood on the other side of the van. They were trying to break down the front doors, she assumed.

Remarkable however, that through this war, her very first time being in such a dangerous situation, Dahlia suddenly acquired the role of a scout, or a spy. She took several deep breaths, steadying her heart as best she could and trying to relax her muscles. Slowly her hands stopped shaking, and finally she was able to peel herself off of the cool metal passenger's door. The gunfire never stopped, but still she leaned out to one side and shouted to the nearest thug, "Go around to the other side! Distract them!" He nodded, then punched another in the arm and gestured towards the opposite corner of the mansion. As they sprinted away, the bullets followed them, and Banshee had her chance to make her move.

With upper body bent forward and staying as low to the ground as possible, she too sprinted, but for the side from which her thugs had just evacuated on command. Like a deer, she sprung around the bushes and shrubbery as best she could, keeping an eye out for any sort of opening or entrance. So far, the glass windows on the first floor were all closed and most likely locked, and breaking one open would certainly direct attention to her. But off near the back of the mansion and at its side was one that was propped open, the barrel of what, to her, looked like a sniper rifle was peering out, slowly watching the scenery for any movement. Banshee pressed her back up to the rough outer wall, and stealthily sidled towards it, carefully maneuvering her thin heels around the pebbles and rocks. Boy, Dodge was _really_ prepared for this, wasn't he? He planned it from day one, she figured. Crane was completely correct in not trusting him. Now, it was her duty to take him out and let him know just who he was messing with.

Banshee now lay crouching under the window with the sniper, and above her, she heard Dodge's thugs chatting amongst themselves.  
". . . no you doofus! You do that and we'll all get killed, stupid."  
"Hey, you didn't see Crane, did you? No. Just-"  
"-the Banshee, who's just as dangerous. Don't let her young age trick you. That chick's got skills, and if you disrespect her, she'll put one of them heels up your . . . **Ah!**"  
Banshee took advantage of their lowered guard, and with a firm grip on the outer edge of the frame of the window, violently flung herself inside and drove both feet into the side of the sniper's temple, knocking him over with ease. What came next seemed only a blur in her eyes, hearing shots fired off but no pain from burning wounds, the wind whirling about her as she worked as quickly and efficiently as possible. Several seconds later, she was pressed up against the wall and staring wide eyed at the three fallen men around her, disarmed and out cold on the plush and opulent rug. It may have alerted others, so she didn't take the time to think about what just happened, and only ran down the corridor, through several rooms, finding the unguarded stairwell.

Heavy plodding footsteps echoed in the upper hall, and Banshee quickly leapt and rolled into the nearest open room, shifting about to hide herself behind the door and careful not to disturb anything to give away her whereabouts. The guards headed down the stairs, and once she heard them out of the area, she poked a head out to take a good look at where she could go next. The open door at the far end of the hall showed part of what appeared to be a study - All she could make out were books and a few Renaissance paintings hanging on the walls. All the other doors were shut. The gunfire gave away the stationed men, so she knew they were kept busy, most likely in those rooms, so didn't have to worry. Dodge on the other hand, his location wasn't so easy to pinpoint.

She leaned back into her hiding spot and examined the room she herself was in. This one appeared to be an office. A large mahogany desk sat at the far corner, a computer and monitor plus a stack of papers and a few envelopes and folders. The large painting behind the desk seemed like just the perfect (not to mention unoriginal) place to put a safe, which she was quite sure there must have been one embedded in the wall. Another plush rug, and file cabinets along the back wall. Something about the corner opposite the desk bothered her, and gave her a feeling of dread. Her unmasked eye squinted as she carefully took several steps forward, observing it to be nothing more than a mere wall, yet still her instinct told her that something was definitely of important interest. Aha! That's what it was! But her realization came too late, as the hidden doorway suddenly slid open, and out strolled Richard Dodge.

Without having to even see his face before realizing it was him, Banshee threw a leg behind her as she bent forward, kicking the door shut and then dashing forward. Dodge's eyes widened with shock, too stunned to avoid her knee impacting with his gut. He toppled forward, and she finished it with a hard elbow strike into his spine. But somehow, she wasn't surprised that her hits weren't as effective against the head honcho, as she felt his forearm swipe just over the floor, literally knocking her feet out from under her. Just as soon as she landed on her back, exclaiming as the wind was knocked out of her, she felt his powerful hands grab at her leg just below the knee and pull her towards him with frightening ease. Containing her impulsive shrieks, he clawed his way up her body, at her hip, stomach, chest, then shoulders, now lying directly over her as she tried to thrash her way free. He pulled her mask up to rest atop her head, seeing her pale face stare back up at him.

"You know . . ." Dodge's lips stretched into a mad grin, eyes burning with fire and lust as they trailed down her body. His neatly slicked back hair was falling apart, several strands at the front curled forward over his forehead. ". . . I always did admire your feistiness. And I gave you the perfect opportunity to quit Crane's dummy work and come join me, but you refused. Why would you do that? Now see what I have to do." Finally she did shriek - Keeping herself hidden wasn't quite as disgustingly chilling as the thought of getting raped. Both of his hands grabbed at her blouse and began to tear it open, streaks of her moist skin showing through. She shrieked again, silenced with Dodge's aggressive hand laid over her mouth and chin. Yet still her tore at her clothing, managing to tear off just enough to see her heaving chest and part of her bra, but he wasn't satisfied with just eye candy. "I told you, I told you. Now look what I have to do. Look what I have to do to you."

He was completely out of his mind. Dahlia had to do something, because if she cried out again, the only thing she would get would be more of Dodge's thugs wanting a piece of the action, she figured. The only person who could save her at this point was herself . . . but he was so strong. A beast clawing at prey, savoring every moment and desiring nothing but its flesh. She couldn't reach the toxin tucked away in her boots and stockings, which didn't manner anyway, because Dodge was now tearing at them too.

If there was such a great being as God, then he had just shone light on Dahlia Rhodes. She was deeply weeping by the time Dodge had managed to rip off one of her stockings, but her sobs ceased once she saw a bottle of the toxin roll across the rug. The fool Dodge was probably in too big a hurry to realize what he had just done. Without a moments notice, she stretched out and snatched it up, then drove it as hard as she could into the side of his face. Just as she had wanted, it burst open, dispelling the poisonous fumes into the air around him. "GAAHH!" Dodge moaned as Dahlia wiggled her way out from under him, and with anger drove both of her heels into his chest, causing another yell to escape him.

Gun. Must find a gun, or a weapon, or something. That's the next thought that occurred to Dahlia, while Dodge was distracted. Still in such fright and shock to even be able to rise up to her feet, she crawled on the floor to the desk, opening each of its drawers in hopes of finding something, anything. The bottom drawer did indeed harbor a puny looking firearm, which she immediately snatched up, then pivoted on her rear to face her attacker and point it straight at his forehead. Realizing that her face was exposed, she quickly pulled her mask back down, shaking as she adjusted it to be more secure. Dodge's coughing fit finally halted, and as he looked up at her with watering eyes, his breathing just increased once again as nightmarish images, unknown to the Banshee, surged through all of his senses.  
"Rot in hell, you sick-"

The door bursted open, the doorknob and lock flung off as the wood splintered and was destroyed. Banshee unfortunately thought it to be one of her men coming up to finally rescue her, but it was one of Dodge's men. She dropped the gun in panic as she tried to get behind the desk for cover, but was stopped halfway as the close gunfire shot out, the stinging pain she had anticipated reaching into her lower left arm. And because she had been trying to scramble away on all fours, one less limb caused her to fall forward, screaming in paint. Her wrist especially burned, the cool liquid seeping out doing nothing to help. It was the worst pain she had ever experienced.

As Banshee's ears caught following shots, she was almost sure she was dead this time. No one was this lucky, were they? But yes, she was, for finally one of her own thugs had taken out this foe, then entered the room and ruthlessly taken out Dodge with a showering of bullets into his chest. This all happened within no more than four seconds, and already he had grabbed her around the waist and lifted her up as he said, "We gotta get out of here, Boss! Dodge's taken care of, but now his guys are talkin' 'bout getting you. We'll stay behind to grab whatever cash he has lying around, but two of the guys downstairs'll get you back to the base." Finally Banshee had a few moments to let the man make the decisions for her. As she lay slung over his thick shoulder, ignoring the bullets flying by and the floor running out in front of her, she only stared at her shining crimson colored hand, counting three black holes in her wrist and at the area of flesh just under her elbow. It hurt so bad, and though she tried, she was unable to bend her fingers without her nerves as far up to her shoulder began to sting and shake with tension. Finally the moonlight came into view, the cleaner air reaching her nostrils - They were outside.

All the injured Banshee could remember after that was opening her eyes in the back of the van, feeling the steel bench bump and rock under her as when they had terrorized Killinger's. Where they were going now didn't matter to her anymore. Blinking her day dreaming away, she looked up to see one thug wrapping a scrap of his shirt around her arm, and one more at the wheel of the vehicle, driving like a madman through Gotham's streets. The earlier words "back to the base" rung in her ears over and over again, which at first didn't bother her until . . .

". . . Wait . . . Stop! Go back to the Narrows, to my apartment!" She so hated it when her gut feelings interrupted the more logical course of action. Just as natural as gravity, something pulled her towards her home, even if she had fled it and swore to never return.  
"What? We gotta get you to a medic!" The driver shouted back, slowing the van as to not rouse so much attention from the other cars on the road. He didn't sound like he was prepared to obey her command, but Dahlia could clearly see through the tiny peephole and through the windshield that he was making a turn to head for the Narrows.  
"It's just my arm and only for a few minutes. I'm fine! Now go!"

After giving him the directions and address, they came to a stop outside the apartment building about twenty minutes later. "I'll be right back," Dahlia muttered as she refused the thug's aid in helping her out of the van. Quickly, she raced up the stairs, clutching her wrist in her other hand, panting as sweat rolled down her forehead and neck, making her way up to the third floor. The hallway to her front door was empty, lucky her, so no nosey neighbors would inquire as to why blood was dripping off her wrists and hands and there was a huge stain on her torn blouse.

Seeing her front door wide open at first gave her the impression that her father of Linda were either entering or exiting at that time, which strangely enough didn't bother her. But once she reached it, once she stepped inside, her feet froze to the floor as her eye caught sight of Linda sprawled out in the kitchen, unconscious. Drunk, maybe, but she wouldn't have passed out on that hard surface. Besides, it was out of her way to the living room or bedroom, which is where she preferred to pass out. Speaking of the living room, once Dahlia took several more steps inside, she almost screamed upon seeing Lou, too, out cold, half clinging to the couch and half lying on the floor beside the coffee table. A robber perhaps, or Dodge's thugs? But other than her family's silence and stillness, nothing else was disturbed. Everything was just as she remembered it was, all unbroken and in its usual organized messiness.

Dahlia's bedroom door was open too. Shakily inhaling through her nostrils, she made no effort to keep her footsteps quite as she entered with flair, expecting to see that room alone in shambles. After all, Lou and Linda didn't do anything to disturb Gotham's underground mobs, as far as she knew. It was all her doing if anything of this was related. But no, it too was just as she had left it, clothes on the floor, sheets undone and everything. That hunch though, it had never left her, and at that moment had seized her stomach and was wringing it and pulling it in ties, causing her to nearly fall over in shock.

Facing her wall of photographs, head arched back and inspecting each diverse individual that had been captured on film, was Crane.


	22. In Which Vengeance May Be

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_Chapter Twenty-Two: In Which Vengeance May Be_

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_**Side Talk II**_

_It's been a while, hasn't it? A little more than two weeks. For that, I deeply apologize. Yes, I did have some personal events taking place (they still are!) - Nothing bad mind you, but quite the charming distraction. 3 Bad timing, especially as The Spider Web is drawing to a close, and you've all been nagging me to hurry and continue on! Aiya! Bad Lati, bad! smacks self__ Back to business. I won't spoil you by revealing how many specific chapters are left in this fan fic, but I will let you know that the climax draws near, mua ha ha. And I hope it's just as enjoyable as the previous chapters - A crappy ending would be simply horrid! Foul! Unimaginable and degrading! Why build and build up to nothing? What an unpleasant thought! Ahem . . . So, here, finally, is the latest chapter. Enjoy, my darlings. :) I'll try desperately to finish the rest on time._

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As he looked over the many photographs pinned up on Dahlia's bedroom wall, Crane honestly wondered to himself why she would capture such malign people on film. When he looked at the old man walking his dog, or the child playing in puddles in the street, he saw people with the potential to be inhumane to those around them. He saw them cackling at him, tormenting him and calling him names. He saw them pushing him around, pushing each other around, simply because it was all fun and games to them. Whenever one was below them, it just raised their own self worth and made them better, or so they selfishly thought. He was better than them. He was higher and simply better. What Dahlia saw in those pictures must have been something of more admiration to have them covering nearly her entire wall and without any such marks or blemishes of rage. Nor did she ever mention this hobby to him in negative detail. Why would she enjoy looking at the very humans who tormented her, too?

Back to the situation. Crane had quite easily heard her enter, and felt her eyes watching him from behind. He just kept looking at those photographs, mind now wandering into early self praise. Lou and Linda had been taught not to interfere with the Scarecrow, and now Lou's daughter was all his, all his to mold and sculpt like clay. Finally he turned, hands still clasped behind his back, and he smiled. "Dahlia, my darling." Facing her directly, he continued, "I didn't expect you would be . . ." She looked pretty roughed up. Her blouse was torn, her chest and part of her bra completely exposed, and her skirt was in ragged strips, stockings also torn up and full of holes. The usual fairness of her skin was hidden by sweat and filth, and her neck and shoulders looked bruised. More noticeably, her lower arm was wrapped in a crude bandage that seeped blood. Either she was going for a new age pirate look, or something really bad had happened.

". . . Dahlia, what happened?" With sincere concern for his pet, he stepped forward, eyebrows furrowing, and looked her over once again as he reached out and gently took her arms. "Are you alright?"  
". . . Dodge . . . ready for . . . The . . . H-He tried to . . ." Her words came out in staggered, short, breathy wisps - She looked really out of it. Her eyes didn't even properly focus on his, but were rather staring out in shock at the wall beyond Crane's shoulder. This was, quite literally, a thought that had never seriously crossed his mind - The raid was a complete disaster it seemed, and in sending her out while he was busy, he had jeopardized her life and virginity. It managed to put a decent sized hole of guilt in his stomach. He was responsible for his lab rat's rough night.  
"Don't speak." Replied Crane, as he quickly went to remove his jacket one sleeve at a time. "It's alright now, Dahlia. Don't worry. I'll see to Dodge as soon as I am able." He draped his jacket over her shoulders and pulled it shut, covering her, before proceeding to run his hands over her hair and smooth it down.  
"N-No." Blinking several times, she finally looked up at him with that same look of panic. "I saw him die. He was shot. In the chest."  
"Unless you saw his brains splatter over the carpet, I doubt that he's dead. Dodge is a sly dog, you must remember."

Crane took both her shoulders firmly as he lead her back out of the apartment and back down to the street, meanwhile pulling his Scarecrow mask back on as well as masking Dahlia with hers. And from there, he instructed the driver take them back to Crane's house while the boss himself called up one of their hired medics to meet them there. As he had a thug walk with Dahlia towards the back door, Crane called out from the passenger seat of the van, "Make sure she's taken care of and keep an eye on her."

"Jonathan?" Dahlia called back as she was gently forced up the back steps. "Where will you be?"  
"Don't concern yourself with that. I'll return as soon as I am able."

* * *

Lo and behold, such a breath-taking sight! Crane knew that Dodge's thugs must have been prepared for them, but an entire army? Dodge certainly had been prepared for him! But he was just a step behind Crane, thinking that numbers were greater than the finest equipment, making him the ignorant loser. By the time Crane had arrived, most of the bodies had been piled up into the backs of the other vans. The battlegrounds were filled with bloodstains, debris, and bullet cartridges, which brought an odd sense of satisfaction from him. Every single one of Dodge's thugs had been eliminated, and Crane was happy to hear that only four of his own men suffered either death or minor injury. _Luck or skill?_ he wondered. He'd have to distribute that survey later.

From the front doors, two men dragged out what looked to be another corpse by the arms. His head was limp and bobbing from side to side, and his lower body dragged across the ground lifelessly. Once at the bottom of the steps however, one thug kicked the body over to reveal a beat up Richard Dodge, his slicked back hair now a mess, his tanned face now stained with blood streaming from several cuts and from his nostrils, and his once black suit now grey with dust and dirt - Most closely it reminded Crane of a survivor of a city bombing. He lied panting on the ground, looking about with tired but wary eyes.

"Ah, there you are, Mr. Dodge . . ." Crane clasped his hands behind his back as he approached him. "I always had known you to be a coward, a mad dog, and a con . . . but a rapist?" One snap of his fingers and four thugs immediately jogged forward to begin kicking him in the gut and head and shouting vulgar comments. Several even used the butts of their firearms to attempt to crack open his head like a pinata. During this momentary beating, Dodge only managed to grunt and scream out and beg them to stop. Another snap sent them off like well trained dogs. "How piggishly loathsome," Crane continued, "and for _my_ mistress, of all women. You should have known better." He shook his head as he snapped his fingers once again, this time exposing his palm. A thug jogged up and held out a pistol by its barrel. Amazing how without even under the affects of fear toxin, Dodge was shaking and already staring wide-eyes at him, at the tiny bits of blue eyes that showed through his mask. As Crane took the handle, resting his finger on the side of the trigger, he continued wickedly, "Here is my final message to you, Mr. Dodge . . . and listen well, because I won't repeat it . . ."

Without so much as a smile or hesitant dramatic pause, Crane lowered the gun and squeezed the trigger, firing off a single shot into his temple. Dodge nerves immediately jerked him back in a final thrust, driving the back of his head against the concrete and hearing his skull sickeningly crack under his flesh. The blood began to pool quickly from under his unmoving head, and so he lied dead.

". . . Fear me."

Crane handed the pistol back and ordered loud enough for all to hear, "Clean up this mess and grab whatever money you can. Feel free to take whatever else you may want from the mansion." And like excited children on Christmas day, they all scattered to collect their personal rewards.

As he lifted the receiver to his ear under the mask, Crane spoke into the phone with a most sarcastically professional but polite tone, "Will all administrators please report to the front office, please? All administrators on campus, please report to the front office. Thank you." He hung up after finishing his announcement, then adjusted the burlap sack over his face as he readied his newest update in medicine. Looking around him, he made sure to it that the late night workers were still out cold, sprawled on the floor behind their desks. The few others still lingering on the University campus would arrive shortly.

Lucky him, there were only two remaining. As one entered, a middle-aged woman, the Scarecrow popped out behind a row of file cabinets like something out of a haunted house. She screamed, he gassed her and knocked her out, then dragged her behind a desk and awaited the next. The next one, an old man who appeared as though his grossly thin frame would snap in half at any second to the weight of his head, was even easier to pounce upon. He hid them both inside the long cabinets under the front counter, then took a flashlight and picked up his silver briefcase and headed out.

Where to? The science classrooms of course, the chemistry class being his specific target. Almost overconfident that the campus was empty (and disregarding the hidden security cameras outside the rooms, since he _was_ disguised), the Scarecrow strolled down the hallway in no hurry, aiming his flashlight at the various bulletin boards on the way to the classroom as if he were sightseeing as a first time visitor. He twirled the skeleton key by its ring on his finger. After finding the proper door and taking a cursory glance back down the corridor, he unlocked it and entered, leaving the door open behind him. All the while taking as many useful chemicals as he could fit into his briefcase, the Scarecrow took a few seconds break to toss around several of the more 'entertaining' glasses, throwing and shattering them against the walls, desks, chairs, and anything else that he could help destroy and vandalize. It was all part of his revenge.

A silence-breaking squeak on the floor outside froze the Scarecrow in place, staring up from his fun in surprise. It was unmistakably the sound of the heel of a shoe, but who that shoe belonged to was a mystery to him. Perhaps he made the mistake of leaving the front office too early, and there were more on campus. No matter - They didn't have any useful weapons, and he not only had his fear toxin, but other dangerous chemicals to toss around. He could handle them with ease.

The Scarecrow continued his work and prepared to leave, ignoring the light his flashlight cast into the darkness of the building. Once securely fastened shut, he picked up the briefcase and the flashlight, and headed for the door. He paused at the telephone mounted on the wall, and ripped it off and noisily tossed it across the room before continuing back out into the hallway. A surreptitious glance around proved that whoever his intruder was had either taken the time to flee or had hidden themselves. He closed the door behind him, leaving it unlocked, then walked back down the hall, but ducked around the unoccupied corner and turned the flashlight off, darkness engulfing him.

For several minutes, the Scarecrow waited there, just listening and watching, anticipating this intruder would near the chemistry classroom in curiosity, or possibly even enter. If so, he would corner them and finish them off. Finally he heard their footsteps, though not quite sure of which direction they were going. Very slow and hesitant at first - He could easily tell that this person must have been frightened - Then they stopped. One, two, three, four long seconds . . . There! They took off running, and in his direction, for the front office! The Scarecrow dropped the briefcase and flashlight, and rushed out to greet them. The unidentifiable human mass slammed against him, a female's cry let out as he easily wrestled this small person up against the wall in attempts to get them to stop fighting. As he took hold of her fragile neck, he felt two hands, one's pressure far weaker than the other, push against his bosom in an attempt to move him away, but he was stronger.

No more than two seconds after the run in, the Scarecrow suddenly ceased his attack, and was then staring down with utter shock into the one scared human eye of the Banshee.  



	23. In Which She is Doomed ?

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_  
_

_Chapter Twenty-Three: In Which She is Doomed . . . ?_

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Dahlia never thought she could be so scared in her life. She never thought it would come to this, _again._ Why was he doing this to her? What was this obsessive, immoral need for vengeance he possessed? But she couldn't let him continue. She couldn't let him get away with this crime - This time, he had just gone too far. It wasn't for the greater good, for justice anymore, but for selfishness and inability to cope with his own problems. And all the while she pushed herself to fight back and do what she thought was right, she was hurting inside to know that no matter what happened now, she lost Jonathan Crane forever.

His hands, she could tell, were thirsting to squeeze the life out of her slowly, having seized her neck with an almost gentle firmness - He didn't want to do so quite yet. Possibly he was enjoying watching her writhe, gasp, and fight for breath? It was a cold, dreadful feeling, to know that if he had wanted to, he could have killed her by now. With that hideous mask still on, he finally spoke to her, and she was surprised to hear that _he_ was surprised. "Dahlia . . . I can safely assume you're not here to aid in my revenge, can't I?" Even with one hand he still held her back, using the other hand to pull the scarecrow mask off. He even took the time to take his glasses from his pocket and slide them onto his face - Her efforts to push him away were useless. The crude bandage around her injured wrist and forearm was already seeping blood, and the added pressure against it only caused more pain and left the limb useless.  
"J-J-Jonathan, s-stop . . ." Dahlia pleaded. "I . . . I can't . . . Please . . ." His grip tightened menacingly.  
"I can't let you go now, if that's what you were thinking." Crane cut off. "Dahlia, you must learn, sometimes in order to aid others on this miserable planet, one must aid solely oneself. Every human being is capable of helping themselves, or else the law of social Darwinism will swallow them up in order to balance nature. Balance, Dahlia. Relying on others to help both the rest of humanity and themselves is selfish in itself. I better this city by bettering myself, and in order to better myself, some sacrifices are needed and greater evils done away with. And should others follow my example, then justice will truly be attained."  
"T-This is . . . This is no way to cope with your problems! This is . . . t-totally irrational, and insane!" Dahlia managed to bark back. Finally the pain was too much, and she drew her injured arm back from his chest, cradling it near her body. Almost subconsciously, she began to physically scan her wardrobe for something she could use to fight back with. But there was nothing she could find. Richard Dodge made sure of that.

"My actions are perfectly sane and rational for my traumatic experiences!" She didn't think it was possible, but yet again, Crane's grip on her throat tightened. Heat built up in her cheeks and eyes, and the pulsing of blood through her bulging veins in her neck thumped loudly in her ears. Blackness, like that of water being flooded with splotches of oil, crawled in through the perimeter of her vision, slowly blocking out the hallway in her peripheral vision and leaving her focused on only the terrible figure of Jonathan Crane. Now she couldn't breath at all - This was the end. She was sure of it. Any second now, she would pass out and die. Dahlia's injured hand suddenly sprung up to life as it flew up to grab the side of her white mask, tugging at the ribbons with all her might to loosen it. Just as she was sure she was dead however, one last burst of energy pulled the ghoulish banshee from her face and thrust it forward with the strength of two men. Though her eyes were now closed, she could feel the porcelain smash against Crane's face, the sharp edges of the fragments cutting into her palm - It crumbled like ancient stone within that instantaneous moment, feeling his glasses smash in, and an involuntary cry had broken out of him. Immediately she was released, and fell sideways onto the hard floor.

As Dahlia violently coughed, gasping for breaths, she began to drag herself away quickly, her stamina flowing back and rejuvenating her. She heard his cry continue behind her, and when she was finally able to open her eyes, the blackness had gone. Still trying to regain her composure, she threw herself up and ran as best she could, swaying from side to side and eventually having to use the wall as a support. Turning several maze-like corridors, she made her way towards any exit. But as she approached the double doors and tried to push them open, she discovered that they were locked - Of course they were. What else could she do then? As she turned to find whichever door Crane had used to enter, which most likely would have been left unlocked, she heard his distant grunting and trudging footsteps, and the chills ran up her spine.

What luck! The janitor's closet right nearby! She remembered hearing an administrator complain about having to get the lock fixed - Hopefully it was still broken. And as Dahlia reached out and found that it was, she almost shouted out in relief. As quietly as her shaking hands could allow, she closed the door and tightly held it shut, in case Crane were to discover her. While sitting quietly, shaking violently and breathing heavily, Dahlia realized here that she had not this night lost Jonathan Crane, but had never had him to begin with. For who knew how long, his personality as already warped and dementia took over his human soul and replaced it with the cunning, conniving Scarecrow, striking terror into others and using fear to manipulate those around him to whichever shape he desired. She only wept harder to think that she had been so attached and obsessed to this madman, her former teacher and assumed ally, when he had been using her. For what specifically, she didn't know.

Dahlia must have been sitting there for ten minutes before she finally began to put her recently discovered bravery to work. If she could sneak inside the fort that was Richard Dodge's mansion, she could certainly evade one single man in the darkness of the empty university. First, however, the torn goth picked up what looked like to be the broken end of a broom handle - If a weapon was needed, this would suffice. Slowly she opened the door, careful of any squeaking hinges or cruel noises that would give away her position. The far hallway was empty, she could see, but for these nearer intersections of corridors, she had to be careful. Crane was either hiding or he had left - Whichever it was, she treated the situation as if she herself were searching for him.

Stealth wasn't the only thing she needed either - Dahlia had to be smart, and she couldn't let herself get too caught up in "what if" questions or out smarting herself. The front office was instinctive, but it was likely that Crane had already disabled the phones. Perhaps the exit doors were open, but there was a chance that they wouldn't be as well. The chemistry class was open, and she knew it had a window, and somehow she figured that Crane wouldn't be hanging around there at the time - Either he was looking for her or already left, she assumed. The classroom was closer, so she headed there first, crouched low to the ground and moving quickly. She even took off her loud heels and was left in soft black socks.

Success! The door was still unlocked, and Crane wasn't in sight! After closing the door behind her, she jogged to the window with anticipated relief, but was more than just disappointed to find it locked and unable to be opened without a key. It would have to be broken. Now or never. Dahlia picked up the nearest chair, took a deep breath, and hurled it as hard as she could through the frame. The glass shattered loudly, almost paining her ears that were by now so used to silence. Adrenalin picking up once again, she leapt swiftly over the broken fragments like a track star and sprinted as fast as she could towards the police station, which was beyond Robinson Park.

The smell of the crisp midnight air and the low breeze reminded her of the beach. Amazing how many memories the simple smell of the air within the park aroused - Packing sand over her father's sleeping body to make a crude sand castle, tripping into the salty water and running to her mother weeping, her father playing volleyball with her, her mother leaving for somewhere she didn't know and unable to take her daughter with her . . . The better days. Compared to that very night, the best days of her life.

A meaty arm threw itself out behind one of the trees and tried to grab Dahlia around the waist, but failed as she shrieked and veered off to the side to avoid. But then another arm, belonging to yet another thug, had leapt out from what seemed like a predetermined hiding spot and he, too, tried to grab her, but her reactions were quick and decisive. Bounding off one of the benches lining the narrow pathway, she changed direction to sprint right through the trees. But then that third arm, the one that had thrust out just as she had reached a different pathway, managed to snag one of her legs and trip her, falling forward onto the pavement on her chest and letting out a sharp exhale. From all around, firm hands grabbed her even as she fought to escape, but it was no use - The thugs' ambush was a success. Two of them had her back to a robust tree, the others strewn about and staring at her like that bug that needed squashing, or like the fly fidgeting and squirming about trying to escape the spider's sticky web. It was an empty, cold feeling, to know that one's mind would soon perish.

"You know your sane mind will soon be devoured, don't you?" Crane's unmistakably silky voice emerged from beyond several trees before her. The kind of chill her spine received was different from all the rest, and she could very well feel the hair all over her body rise. At first all she could make out in the darkness was his slender, suited figure come forward, head held arrogantly high atop his neck. As he stepped down onto the sidewalk and into the moonlight, Dahlia gave a hushed gasp once she saw his face - He was without his glasses, no mistake that Dahlia had destroyed them, and appeared no different than normal, except that the skin around his inflamed right eye was damaged. The cuts weren't too deep, but there was a lot of blood dripping down the side of his face, which once flowing down the well-shaped contours of his cheekbones and reaching the curve of his jaw would be wiped away by a soiled handkerchief. He'd be with those hideous scars for life. "Isn't that what you were thinking?"  
Silent, Dahlia didn't reply. Crane continued as he idiosyncratically sauntered nearer. "And you were also feeling, correct me if I am wrong, that this mishap, this particular downward campaign you've landed yourself in, is somehow so much more . . . **terrifying** than the ones before this. Correct?"  
Again she didn't reply.  
"Do you know why?"

Though she tried to be strong, Dahlia's stone face slowly cracked as her lips began to tremble and she softly wept, never once taking her eyes off of Crane. "Because the one thing, the one tangible possession you had in this world was taken from you, and turned against you. Where you once felt safe is now your living oblivion, Dahlia. And you know what is to come, don't you?" Quite unexpectedly, Crane crouched in front of Dahlia, lowering his head with a hushed scoff as he noticed her jerk her knees up to her bosom in defensive surprise. "I admit to you, Dahlia - You're a unique individual, and you're more useful than you think . . ." Her skin crawled with goose bumps as she felt Crane rest his hand gently over her cheek, then slip down to lift her chin to directly view him. ". . . but you're dangerously tamed by society's expectations."

Oh yes, Crane, Dahlia knew what was to come, which is precisely the reason she felt her last resort was to scream as loudly as she could to attract someone, anyone for help. A thug had rushed forward and clamped his muscular hand over her lower face, stifling her, as Crane quickly snatched a roll of duct tape from another. The two worked together to make sure her mouth stayed shut, and following the ordeal, the boss most uncharacteristically slapped her across the cheek. Dahlia moaned in her throat as she shut her eyes, feeling the sting on her skin. And again she was slapped. This situation was one she remembered weeks before - It was similar to that night that Natalie and her friends had pounced on her in the parking lot and had roughed her up. But of course, this was so much more terrifying. Unnerving and somehow ironic to think that a madman could be so correct in his understanding of the human mind.

"Say hello to both Natalie and Caitlin for me, would you please?" Those were the last words Dahlia heard in her sane, unclouded mind.

* * *

_**NOT** THE END . . ._  



	24. In Which It's Over

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_Chapter Twenty-Four: In Which It's Over_

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The first immediately noticeable thing Dahlia experienced was a sudden freezing cold feeling all over her body. The smell of sulfur and a coppery taste engulfed her senses, and the sounds of Gotham's busy nightlife outside the alienation of Robinson Park quickly faded into a droning, faint howl echoing in her ears. The wind wisped around her, chilly and whip-like, almost slicing at her like razor-sharp daggers - The pain caused her to curl her arms into her chest and grip her sides, trying to stay warm and keep away from the blades. However much she tried to resist, too, her wide eyes could not tear away from the sight of monsters before her. The Scarecrow was looming above her, all colors of his appearance darkened and dismal, and his eyes as only bright orbs of deep red. The men around him were similar in appearance, appearing both ripped and torn in the swirling, dusty storm that stirred underneath them.

A demonic voice, deep and rumbling ominously, spoke out. "Fascinating, isn't it gentlemen?" The live Scarecrow smiled in front of her, long and sharp teeth protruding from its unevenly stitched grin. Fire sprouted up around him, engulfing him, burning him, as countless roaches, beetles, locusts, and other such foul insects rose from the dirt and began to crawl towards her in swarms. Dahlia shrieked (or rather tried to behind the duct tape), trying to back up, but stopped short and was pressed up against something hard - She didn't turn to see what it is, knowing very well that it would only help in giving her a heart attack. Over and over again she tried to tell herself that it was only the toxin playing tricks on all of her senses . . . but it was _too_ real. Nothing this horrible could be a mere illusion, could it? In the back of her mind, she applauded Crane for truly establishing himself as the master of fear.

The insects reached her first, crawling all over her legs and working their way up to her stomach, neck, and face, their itchy legs sending shivers down her spine as she screamed over and over again in her head, unable to produce any sound but a muffled series of cries. However, just as quickly as they had invaded her body, they left, high-pitched shrieks emanating from the tiny bodies. Looking back up to where Crane was, the fire had diminished and each of the human-like figures were fleeing or aiming their enormous weapons at some image she could not see. Non-distinctive shouts roared about them, and the ear-shattering piercing of bullets fired off towards the black sky, churning with grey clouds. The Scarecrow, dancing in his ragged burlap clothing, stretched an arm out towards the target, but a shapeless mass of black fell upon him, upon them all. Dahlia by now had managed to get her arms free, and with both hands had pried the tape from her sore lips and was involuntarily screaming.

This mass of blackness rose before her slowly, tall and mighty, slit red eyes peering out at her. It leapt forward, to which she responded by reeling back, but she felt it clutch her arm and dig sharp claws into her skin. She only screamed louder, looking into the monstrous eyes of an enormous bat snarling at her. Suddenly a sharp sting like that of a bee spread in a swirl into her upper arm, followed by warmth rushing through her blood all throughout her body. After blinking several times, Dahlia's perception began to change, and in a matter of seconds, she found herself right back where she was. Back in the park, under a normal night's sky, weather calm and obedient, and surrounded by the fallen thugs, a masked Crane with them sprawled on the pavement.

The Batman, who else? He loomed above her, holding some strange, futuristic looking device in his thickly gloved hand, and his dry, rusted voice boomed, "You were poisoned by Crane's toxin. I just gave you the antidote. You should be fine now." Unlike the other encounters however, this one wasn't hostile. Dahlia, instead of looking to the bat with disgust and loathing, looked upon his darkly clad figure with a sort of mystification and wonder. No matter how many times she would see him, he amazed her.  
Trembling with both humiliation and frustration with herself, guilty towards her savior, Dahlia began, "I-I'm . . . I apologize, for . . ."

But she was interrupted as the Scarecrow's voice screamed out, "Don't interfere!" Just past the Batman's shoulder, Dahlia found the slender figure rising up to his feet and raising a gun to the back of the Dark Knight's head. Even with his back exposed, the psychic Batman was one step ahead of her - He turned swiftly and threw an object Dahlia could not clearly see at the weakened man, the projectile burying itself into the flesh of his hand. He shouted in pain, dropping the gun, just as the Batman rushed forward and planted a strong punch to his gut. The Scarecrow nearly flew out of his shoes, landing on his back on the ground, out cold.

Calmly, the Batman started a new subject, ignoring Dahlia's unfinished words. "The police should be here soon, and they'll make sure you get home safe and sound. Crane's reign of terror has ended, and he'll stay in Arkham for the rest of his days." From somewhere under his cape, he took and held out the broken fragments of her porcelain mask. "They don't know about the Banshee."  
Dahlia stifled her surprised gasp, forcing her mouth remain shut as she bit down on her lower lip. Slowly looking to the broken mask, then up to the Batman's face, she said timidly, her cheeks red with shame,

"I never got to apologize, or to thank you."

He shook his head, bold eyes gazing upon her. "And you'll never have to."

As police sirens approached, the Batman sprinted into the darkness of the trees, Dahlia watching him make his escape as far as her eyes could see. Once again, he was gone, and she'd probably never see him again. With a silent sigh, she looked back to the Scarecrow's unconscious figure. His chest slowly heaved and dipped with his calm breathing, and even with the ghoulish mask on, he looked quite peaceful. Dahlia stepped forward and sat on the ground beside him, folding her hands in her lap as she just observed him. Ever so hesitantly, she finally reached towards him and gently grasped his hand, squeezing affectionately, knowing it was the last time she could ever do so. There would always be that good memory of her time with Crane, regardless of the night's battle.

"I apologize to you, too, Jonathan."

* * *

"I'm sorry for keeping you waiting! Just had to touch up on a little bit of makeup." Dahlia addressed James Gordon politely, giving a sheepish smile with glossed lips as she finished lacing up one of her knee-high leather boots. The apartment seemed so much larger now that Linda and all of her few possessions were gone, and it was noticeably more peaceful. Somehow, it seemed cleaner as well - Nothing was quite as messy or unorganized, and the couch cushions were in place for a change, without Linda lazing about. The television was on, Gotham City news playing. Nothing of interest, other than the police suspected some sort of conspiracy would soon take place to free Arkham's more "prestigious" members. Then again, when was Gotham every truly safe? Her father stood nearby the door, his arms crossed and her eyebrows furrowed.  
"Are you sure you want to do this, Sweet Pea? I won't stop you, but . . ."  
"Very." Dahlia replied assuredly, tapping her heel on the floor as she stood up straight and nodded to Gordon. "I'm very sure, Pops. Don't worry about me."  
He sighed. "Be back before dinner."  
" 'Kay. Bye." Dahlia opened the front door, and lead the way down to Gordon's car.

Arkham Asylum was a place Dahlia had never visited before, but had only seen from outside the stone walls and at a distance. The building itself was beautiful, like a neo-gothic castle minus the gargoyles and malign figures of evil, but still had that gloomy, somewhat terrifying feeling about it. She had heard stories, but never expected the famous Arkham to really be like this. Inside it wasn't much better, but appeared more like a somewhat dingy hospital than an insane asylum. Doctors with name tags walking here and there, all adults milling about like at a business office. Dahlia followed closely behind Gordon and one of the employees down a narrow corridor lined with thick steel doors with tiny windows. "Here he is." The woman said as she gestured a hand towards the door at the far end. "If you need to be let inside, Gordon, just ask somewhat nearby."  
Gordon nodded and replied, "Thank you." Then as he glanced back towards the door, he addresses Dahlia. "So, Crane was your professor at the university, huh?"

Dahlia was almost frozen as she peered into the rectangular window, seeing a man inside, seated upright in a long leather chair. He was bound tightly in a white straight jacket, unmoving and with his head curled downwards, brown hair fallen with gravity to veil his face. As if he sensed her there, the man weakly lifted up his head to glance nonchalantly towads Dahlia, completely devoid of expression on his face, all but his icy blue eyes which were hypnotic and almost longing. They locked eye contact for nearly fifteen seconds. Finally she replied, voice almost cracking as her eyes shone over, "Yes." She swallowed.  
Gordon could sense some sort of emotional connection. Softly, he asked, "Do you want to go in?"  
But Dahlia replied, regaining her firmness as she turned away from the door, "No." Without him, she began to walk back down the hallway.  
"What? Then what'd you come here for?"  
"Because no one else visits, so I should. Anyway, I'm done. Thank you for taking me here."

After leaving, Dahlia made her way down the street, hands buried in a set of the many pockets in her thick, flowing skirt. One of the electronic shops she walked by was playing the news on all of the television screens in the window display, and Dahlia had to stop and listen as she heard a new headline by one of the newscasters. "Regarding crime, Gotham has finally put the Scarecrow behind bars. That's right, this master of fear won't be terrorizing citizens anymore! More recently, policemen discovered an entire laboratory in Jonathan Crane's home, hidden away in the basement . . ." She went on and on, all of this information Dahlia already knew. What was somewhat interesting however was that the female newscaster informed the audience of Richard Dodge's demise, something Dahlia had not been able to learn of. Then came another interesting topic: "As for the Banshee, said to be the Scarecrow's partner in crime, no news has been made. It's been four long weeks since we've found any signs of this ghoul's whereabouts. Gotham police have given up the search for the Banshee, having no leads, and considering this mistress of fear to no longer be a threat. So, sleep safely tonight, Gotham!"

Dahlia turned away from the window and sighed. Just across the street at the corner, she spotted the coffee shop. Remembering that she had several dollars left in her pockets from her last bit of allowance from her father, she agreed with her stomach and headed over to grab some lunch. The place was empty for a change, which was actually quite nice. First scanning the cleaner tables at the far wall by the counter, Dahlia opted rather to sit in a more comfortable, familiar spot. She approached the lonely table placed back in the corner by the window, sat down in one of the chairs, and looked out onto Gotham's citizens strolling the sidewalk without a care in the world.

_FIN_  



	25. AFTERWORD

_AFTERWORD: UPDATED 12-28-05  
_

* * *

The Spider Web has finally been concluded! Yes, this is a completely OOC final word from me, Latikono. Just thought I'd touch on a few things and answer any possible wandering thoughts some of you may have had. 

I immensely appreciate all the support, wonderful comments, and helpful suggestions I received on this fan fiction piece, my first one ever (and my first finished story period!). Again I thank you all! I would have given up on chapter six if it hadn't been for you all urging me to continue. That and this C2 community thing someone added me to, called "Awesome Original Characters" - I am so friggan' flattered! Wow! I did hope that I did my job in turning out good original characters, Dahlia especially of course, and now I feel I've done just that.

In case anyone was curious, no, my Batman fan fic "career" has not stopped here - After devoting most of the past three months to doing a character study on Jonathan Crane, watching snippets of Batman Begins over and over, playing the Batman Begins video game, doing a lot of online research for most every Crane-related site out there, and even going out and buying Scarecrow Tales and Batman the Animated Series: Season One on DVD, I felt that letting go now would just be too painful. 3 (Ahh, I give myself too much credit - After all, I do love Batman itself, so it wasn't all _just_ for character studies. ) I've already plotted out the basic idea of yet another Crane fan fiction, this time centering around our twisted villain's adolescent life in high school. And since variety is the spice of life, I'm going to do it in a completely different format from how I did The Spider Web with flopping back and forth between Crane and Dahlia in third person limited point of view and even naming the chapters. I do hope I get a few comments from you when that first chapter or two gets uploaded. I also hope I'm not too repetitious in this one plot or character wise, if at all. I have no estimates as to when I'll start up this new fan fiction, but it won't be for a while. I need to give my brain a bit of time to recover, since this is the first story I've ever finished. Yikes!

Just for kicks, here's a basic cast list I took some time to put together for all the named characters in The Spider Web:

* * *

_**CAST (In order of appearance)**_

_Dahlia Rhodes/The Banshee...Winona Ryder  
Jonathan Crane/The Scarecrow...Cillian Murphy  
Natalie O'Neil...Brittany Daniel  
Linda Barker...Rachel True  
Lou Rhodes...James Woods  
Caitlin Barr...Aimee Graham  
Chris...Skeet Ulrich  
Eric...Jonathan Rhys-Meyers  
The Batman...Christian Bale  
Frank Kendrick...Jeffrey Tambor  
Reid...Elijah Wood  
Richard Dodge...Benjamin Bratt_

* * *

Now, my final few messages . . . I have decided to do a sequel! Yes, I have. Check my profile to find it, titled The Spider Web: Master of Fear. 

I hope dearly that I don't somehow butcher anything or screw up in any way, as sequels tend to do. So far, though, it's doing pretty good with only three chapters up. I'm still thinking real hard about where I want the plot to go.

The Spider Web forum: Check my profile.

And finally, my completely different Batman Begins fan fiction, Prince Charming is up. For that, check my profile as well.

But at this point, I think I'm going to put a hiatus on writing it . . . I don't know. I'm more interested in The Spider Web: Master of Fear than I am with this one. Plus, it's hard leading three lives; One of which is in third person limited, and the other two first person. That's a lot of character to have inside one body, especially with so many other offline matters to attend to, heh.

So there you have it. I don't think I have anything else to say. Thank you very much for reading. Until we meet again.


End file.
